


even in dark times (infinite capacities)

by iPhone, tmylm



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Based on All The Bright Places, Drama, F/F, High School, Mental Health Issues, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPhone/pseuds/iPhone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmylm/pseuds/tmylm
Summary: The last few months of high school are supposed to fly by, but everybody’s got a past holding them back. Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale are brought together unexpectedly by a geography project.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 95
Kudos: 254





	1. walk me home

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration based on the movie _All The Bright Places_. We watched the movie on a whim and we ended up thinking...hey this works for Bechloe. If you've watched the movie, well you know. If you haven't...well you don't know and we cannot say whether we recommend going to watch the movie or not. :)
> 
> Please be aware of upcoming dark themes such as death mention, mental illness, and of course a good dose of Theresa and Ellie concocted smut.
> 
> The story itself is heavily inspired by the movie, but we adapted it to the PP world and Bechloe, with the exception of basing them in high school. We do not claim ownership over anything, just our own interpretation of this as it pertains to Beca and Chloe. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early morning walks are nothing out of the ordinary for Beca; they help her to clear her head, find some peace. Normally, she does not stumble upon a familiar (yet much higher up the social ladder) figure in the middle of what she can only assume is an understandably dark moment in her life. Perhaps, in this one case, she just happens to be in the right place—or is it the wrong place?—at the right time

It’s strange really, the fact that someplace so quiet, so empty, can just feel so damn _loud_ sometimes. But walking helps, Beca has found. Even in the colder months—especially in the colder months, in fact—walking helps.

It must be just past dawn by Beca’s estimates. With music floating through her headphones, she isn’t too bothered to check the time, though she’s probably far enough into her playlist—at least an hour and a half—that it’s probably time to head home.

Probably time to head back to a quiet, empty house with nobody to side-eye her early-morning strolls even if she does find herself missing Dani and her incessant rambling about her girlfriend from time to time. Not that she’d ever admit it.

But the quiet helps. The walking helps even more.

The break in her routine comes at a peculiar sighting: a figure hunched over the railing of the bridge passing over the Chattahoochee River (the “Coochie River” as Beca and Dani had always called it, much to the disdain of her father). Vaguely, she registers the silhouette of what looks like a vintage bicycle propped up against the wall, but her attention is pulled largely by the figure, an unfamiliar one from the short distance, now standing over the railing.

A brief gust of wind—powerful for early March—draws back the figure’s hood, revealing red, wavy hair drawn back in a neat ponytail. It is hair that Beca could probably recognize anywhere, although for a split second she thinks it is somebody else; she believes she is seeing a phantom of the past and her heart stills for a split second because _her_ name is on the tip of her tongue.

But it isn’t. It isn’t her. She still recognizes that red hair though, considering she spends most of her classes staring at the back of Chloe Beale’s head because it is significantly more interesting than the geography of Atlanta.

Chloe, on the other hand, likely has no idea that Beca even exists.

But, still, Beca doesn’t like the way her stomach twists at the sight of that same head now hunched precariously over a rushing river. That feeling is what kicks her legs into action; that feeling is what makes her approach Chloe (she’s _sure_ it’s Chloe, it has to be) even though she wouldn’t under any other circumstances.

She supposes finding her high school classmate standing on a bridge at around six in the morning is a special circumstance. Her high school classmate who has become somewhat of a social recluse over the past year since the most talked-about accident the previous summer.

As she approaches, Beca’s heart begins to pound.

In hindsight, it is perhaps not the smartest move, calling out to someone in what looks to be an incredibly vulnerable position. But, that same pounding heart has Beca acting without properly thinking, almost like her body is somehow independent from her mind.

“Chloe?”

The way Chloe jumps causes Beca’s arm to outstretch, her fingers extending in a way that she could easily wrap them around Chloe’s slender wrist. Though, she doesn’t know her like that, and Chloe seems to steady herself quickly enough that physical contact is not necessary.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Chloe responds in something like a hiss, shaky hand rising to clutch briefly at her chest.

Beca quickly draws her hands back to fiddle with the headphones around her neck and tries to offer a reassuring smile to Chloe, but she can’t be certain that her smile is anything more than a grimace. “Hi,” she tries in a somewhat pathetic attempt at conversation, hoping she sounds halfway human.

“You can’t just—” Chloe cuts herself off with a fast shake of her head, and Beca takes note of the way she sucks in a sharp breath, likely in an attempt to regain some composure.

“Were you, uh…” Beca motions toward the bridge, unsure of what she is actually trying to say, but feeling increasingly like she is digging herself into a rapidly closing hole. She notices the way Chloe’s eyes, bright blue in color even in the dim morning light, seem to narrow in on her. “I mean, are you done up there?” Beca’s gaze shifts briefly toward the water, though it is pulled back to Chloe quickly. “Doesn’t seem like the safest place to be standing.”

Chloe stifles the smile—a frequent occurrence for her as of late—that threatens to form at Beca’s attempt to speak to her. A small bubble of pain wells up inside her, but she tamps it down and tilts her head ever so slightly in Beca’s direction if only to appease her. “Good view though,” she says dryly. She catches another glimpse of Beca out of the corner of her eye and notes that Beca is staring intently at her—a look somehow more intense when she notices that Beca’s eyelids are devoid of the usual heavy black eyeliner she is known to sport regularly.

“Oh,” Beca murmurs, turning to face the river again. “I’ll take your word for it.” She climbs up immediately next to Chloe, holding her hands up for balance.

Chloe startles and almost falls off the railing entirely as she holds onto Beca’s upper arm. “What are you _doing_?”

“Seeing for myself,” Beca responds easily, the protective grip of Chloe’s fingers around her arm not going unnoticed even through the thick material of her sweater, but she tries not to read into it too deeply. There is really nothing to read into, anyway.

“I thought you were taking my word for it?”

“I’m more of a do it yourself kind of person.” Beca lifts her hands, noting that Chloe is still gripping her arm tightly—honestly, it is a comfort Beca is silently grateful for; Beca absolutely _hates_ heights—and lifts her headphones back over her ears. She can’t help the smile that crosses her lips when she realizes the lyrics of the song are presently very fitting.

Chloe’s lips twitch as she watches Beca very literally sway along to the music. “What are you listening to?” she asks.

Beca opens an eye and smirks at her. “I’ll play it for you if we can get off this thing.” She quickly pauses the song and leaps off the ledge back onto the sidewalk, wincing when her knees buckle at the force. She turns to stare at Chloe expectantly before she reaches out again, this time with her hand outstretched in full view of Chloe’s line of sight.

Chloe contemplates Beca’s outstretched hand for a long moment before lifting her gaze to Beca’s face, her features somehow more youthful than ever before. She sees nothing but a refreshing earnestness and lack of judgment. Beca isn’t rushing her to move on or pressuring her.

She is simply waiting for Chloe to take her hand.

For the first time in a year, Chloe finally reaches back.

There is a silence that fills the air, one that is broken only by the delicate sound of Chloe’s feet as they finally reach solid ground. There is an additional sense of safety now, but that doesn’t stop the loud drumming of Beca’s rapidly racing heart.

The expectant look in Chloe’s eyes confuses Beca for a moment. She is about to ask her what she’s doing, what she wants. Though, Chloe clears her throat, and Beca notices the way her gaze lowers toward Beca’s phone.

“So? What were you listening to? Play it for me.”

If anyone should be making demands right now, Beca thinks that it should be her. She should demand to know what just happened, what was _going_ to happen before she somehow managed to put a stop to it. But, the fact that this is Chloe Beale, the same Chloe Beale who could be considered something like high school royalty in comparison to Beca, does not pass her by. So, without hesitation, Beca tugs on the wire plugged previously into her phone, the quiet sound of her music beginning to fill the still morning air around them.

 _Trying to stand up on my own two feet  
_ _This conversation ain’t coming easily_  
_And, darling, I know it’s getting late  
_ _So what do you say we leave this place?_

Beca finds meaning in song lyrics. She finds meaning in _music_ , in fact. While she had considered the song fitting for their situation, it doesn’t register to her quite how cheesy the whole thing is until she hears it aloud between the two of them. She actively makes a point of not looking at Chloe, and instead sets her focus down on her admittedly pretty beat up looking combat boots. Dani has commented on them more than once, told Beca that she really is due a new pair—they had already been pretty worn-out even before she’d claimed them from Dani, if she is being honest.

Regardless, it isn’t until that point that Beca realizes she and Chloe’s hands are still clutched firmly together, like two anchors finally finding each other amidst the undercurrent of their own very different, yet both still very disordered lives.


	2. ripped at every edge; you're a masterpiece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca attempts to go about her life as usual, but she can’t get Chloe off her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Mention of trauma and a car accident resulting in death.
> 
> Chapter title from Halsey's _"Colors"_.

Beca crosses off another week in her agenda.

_So close_.

Despite the roiling anticipation rippling throughout their grade, Beca finds that school is somehow as dull as ever. Their teachers’ attempts to get them to focus on _anything_ are really smokescreens for how much they yearn for summer break as well. Most students having already received offers of admittance or rejections are already checked out mentally, Beca being amongst them.

At home, her offer to attend Barden sits, hand-delivered by her father himself. At home, that letter sits, buried beneath endless USBs and sticky notes, like her most recent one, a messy scrawl across a bright red sticky note: _i want to make her smile_.

Beca can’t shake the sensation that somebody is watching her from her mind. She lifts her head and slowly draws her headphones off her ears, allowing the sound of the cafeteria to overcome her, finally. Sighing, she glances around, seeing nobody who seems particularly fixated on her. 

However, her eyes are immediately drawn to red hair in a neat ponytail, immediately reminding her of just a few days ago on that early March morning. How surreal it felt then—how surreal it feels now—that Beca still believes it all to be a figment of her own imagination.

A part of her wants to get up and sit next to Chloe, drawn to her more than ever before, but the more pressing matter of the swelling nerves inside her keeps her anchored to her seat. Quickly, she looks back down at her food, a lazily constructed sandwich she had thrown together at the last minute, and she finds that she isn’t quite hungry anymore.

When she looks up again, Chloe’s eyes are gazing right at her. Beca swallows and tightens her grip around the cups of her headphones, wondering who will break first; wondering if she ought to smile; wondering if she should get up and sit with Chloe like she originally wanted.

Chloe looks away first, a blush rising up her cheeks. It is visible even from their distance.

Aubrey, Chloe’s best and frankly most annoying friend in Beca’s opinion, steals her attention not too long after that.

Beca slowly draws her headphones up over her head again before she pulls out her pad of sticky notes from her bag.

_eyes,_ she writes, emphasizing the word with a thick underline.

It was awful to admit, but it appeared to most people that there would always be two remarkable things to know about Chloe Beale—two things that anybody at their school would be able to tell you right off the bat. More superficially, it would be that Chloe was incredibly pretty and that she had beautiful eyes. Not quite unique in their colour—a bright blue—but unique in their intensity and how easily her emotions shone through them.

Not that Beca had _noticed_.

Not in Chloe at least—not at first.

The second true fact about Chloe Beale is that she used to have a sister. That part was what had rocked their entire school the previous summer.

Beca had heard about it from her own sister—that horrible car crash right off the interstate that had taken the life of Amber Beale and that had almost taken the life of her younger sister, Chloe. Amber, who had been driving Chloe home from a party, was set to go to New York University that following fall.

It never happened.

That was as much as Beca knew.

That previous summer had been a blur anyway. Beca more fondly—more vividly—recalls the first day the Beales had shown up in all their lives. Living just outside Atlanta, their lives in their sleepy suburb had been fairly normal—fairly standard all-American experience—until Chloe and Amber and their parents had moved into town. Chloe and Amber, a year apart, had been inseparable and terrifying.

Used to the same tired, familiar faces filling the school hallways around her ever since kindergarten, it’s still almost unfathomable to Beca, how Chloe had walked through those classroom doors on that very first day and done what most people spend their entire school career attempting desperately to achieve. Not Beca, of course. Beca has long accepted her lack of popularity and she still doesn’t care for it, doesn’t put any stock into it. In fact, she quite enjoys her comfortable seat at the very bottom of the social ladder.

Chloe and Amber had done it on the first day of high school with no connections to anybody, however; with no connections to the people who had all grown up together. Popularity, it seemed, was easy for them. Achieving popularity was easy and nobody else seemed quite willing to touch the newly-established hierarchy with a ten-foot pole. 

Flowing red hair and piercing blue eyes—admittedly, Chloe’s more so than Amber’s—they had instantly, effortlessly captured attention. Truth be told, the way Beca would find herself fixating on the older of the two from time to time had hinted at something of a small crush on her part, but it had been so fleeting. Beca didn’t _know_ Amber Beale—she never got the chance. Amber was untouchable. Beca was just...well, she was not blind, she could _see_ her.

Chloe, the more outgoing of the two, did have one thing Beca will admit (to herself and only herself) she had always been a little jealous of: her participation in the school choir. It had been perhaps the only extracurricular activity that Beca ever considered joining—and it was an active desire to join on top of that—but that never ended up happening for Beca. For one reason or another, maybe to maintain her own invisibility, she never joined.

Chloe took performing in stride like she did everything else. Beca had the fortune of witnessing Chloe sing during school performances; had the fortune of seeing firsthand the way her entire face would light up like a thousand brightly-colored sunsets as she belted out one haunting melody after another, pretty and confident in every solo she had received. 

That is another notable thing about Chloe Beale, at least to Beca. There is something so animated about her, something that somehow rolls all of the colors of the rainbow into one. Beca thinks about it as she brings up her gaze discretely toward Chloe’s table again—the popular table—to see an incredibly dimmed version of Chloe’s former light.

She thinks about how it is weird this year, somehow significant even, to hear the choir performing, and to see that Chloe no longer chooses to participate.

Beca flips over her pad to the next free sticky note, the word _colors_ soon filling the formerly empty center.

Music fills her mind once again.

* * *

“How was school?”

It is a simple, mundane question, yet one that Dani always insists on asking in spite of Beca’s typical, same old answer. For some reason, Dani still has some level of misguided faith in Beca’s education, though Beca cannot imagine why. Like she believes Beca will find some last-minute joy in education and pursue some academic path like her own father.

“It was the most thrilling day of my life,” Beca responds in a dry tone, face buried inside of the small refrigerator. She notes that it could definitely use a restock, but there are slices of processed cheese for her to snack on for now, so Beca is not complaining. She makes sure to grab a few slices and a seltzer.

Dani is busy floating around the kitchen, stuffing items haphazardly into her oversized bag, though Beca can feel her gaze burning into the back of her head, no doubt judging her snacking options.

“My day was great too, thank you for asking,” Dani says sarcastically.

It is the tone to her voice, definitely not an angry one, but perhaps just a little deflated somehow, that has Beca quickly tugging the pads from over her ears, headphones now hanging loosely around her neck.

“Sorry, sorry,” Beca backtracks, sucking in a breath. She spins on the spot to offer her sister an apologetic smile, one that Dani returns with a look that tells her _it’s okay_. “I always forget which days you’re actually at school, then I forget to ask.”

A part-time student at Barden University, as well as the sole provider of their two-person household, Dani’s schedule is a hectic one, much more so than Beca’s. She admires her older sister in a way; her strength, her resilience, they are qualities Beca wishes to possess herself.

Her attendance at Barden, on the other hand, is something Beca quietly considers a weakness.

Due to her father’s job, it is entirely expected of Beca to attend in the fall, after graduation. Honestly, she cannot imagine a path worse-suited to her, but it seems to be good enough for Dani.

Where Beca craves freedom, Dani craves stability.

Beca supposes it was nice of her father, if not somehow a little manipulative, to help Dani with her tuition—especially considering Dani is not his daughter. But, the prospect of a full-ride is not enough to entice Beca. She has bigger dreams, much, _much_ bigger than Barden University, and Beca would rather die before admitting defeat. In _Atlanta_ , nonetheless.

“Do you have homework?” Dani asks conversationally, strap of her bag now slung over her shoulder. She is reaching for her keys, though glances up in time to see Beca shrug in response. “Alright, well you should at least try to do it, okay? Or pretend to, for my sake. I have to go to work, and I’m stopping by Stacie’s place afterwards, so you have the house to yourself.”

A knowing look appears in Beca’s eyes at the mention of Stacie, her sister’s girlfriend, and Dani’s playful eye-roll is in response to the smirk drawing itself onto Beca’s lips. Beca barely has the chance to inhale for a quick snark at her sister’s expense before Dani is shushing her abruptly and pretending to throw her keys at her.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dani chuckles, keys still gripped safely between her fingers. “You know where I am if you need anything, right?”

“Right,” Beca nods shortly after her, attention turning back toward the fridge as her sister begins to leave. “I’ll try not to blow up the house or anything.”

“Mhmm,” she hears Dani calling from the door, a quick, “Love you, B,” tossed over her shoulder to precede her departure.

And then Beca is alone in the loud emptiness of her home. As usual, she cannot decide if she likes it.

* * *

Beca attempts to do her homework for about half an hour before she tosses her books haphazardly back into her bag and trudges up to her bedroom. An attic room turned into her own personal sanctuary, Beca immediately feels a sense of calm and belonging the moment she enters the cool space. Sighing quietly, she flips the small space heater on and flicks on her lights before debating where to drop her bag.

At her desk, Beca notes that her belongings are still in complete disarray, scattered around her still-open laptop like some kind of shrine to her music. Above her laptop, a mess of sticky notes, some holding broken-off lyrics, some holding one-word sentences. She retrieves the sticky notes she had written earlier from her pocket and smoothes them out before sticking them above her laptop.

_eyes  
_ _colors_

She pulls her drawer open and pulls out the sticky note from just a few days ago.

_i want to make her smile_

This disjointed reflection of her thoughts makes sense suddenly, now that the sticky notes are up on the wall together, like she has finally figured out what she had been trying to tell herself.

Beca is sure there are other ways to write songs these days, but none of the greats had ever stuck to convention. Music consistently threatens to overspill from within her, like an overflow from the blood in her veins.

The moments in which she finds herself empty and lacking—those are the worst days and the most harrowing.

Nodding along to a rhythm that barely matches the music currently floating through her headphones, Beca quickly opens her music editing software and stares contemplatively at the miniature piano keyboard attached to her computer. 

It had been so peculiar, the sensation that rushed through her when she had interacted with Chloe. When she had talked to her. When their eyes had met across the cafeteria.

Like the most worn-out strings of fate barely holding them together. Not that Beca believes in that necessarily.

But she _does_ believe in the music she suddenly feels inspired to write. Music that best illustrates her thoughts, her emotions—the best portrayal she can muster of her mind.

A quick melody for Chloe’s eyes. Something more melancholy for the desire to see a smile.

...And an entire symphony of sound for colors—colors everywhere and anywhere—enough sound to fill all the empty spaces in Beca’s mind, maybe with enough leftover to spill into her heart.

* * *

Following a long soak in the tub, one spent largely with her head submerged beneath the much too hot water, Beca finds that she has lost track of the time. She does know that it is dark out by now, and that the homework Dani instructed she attempt remains so far untouched since the halfhearted thirty-minute effort she made sometime earlier.

For a second—a brief, out of character split-second—Beca considers going back to it, wonders how it might feel to actually complete something worthwhile for school. In fact, she even reaches for her laptop again—that seems like the logical first step, right? However, she does not open up a blank document, nor bother to paw through the contents of her school bag.

Instead, she proceeds to type two words into the search engine: _Chloe Beale_.

It does not surprise her, the fact that the first result links to a year old article detailing the fatal car accident to ultimately end Amber Beale’s life.

It seems like, at least from what Beca reads, the crash had not been Amber’s fault. She had been driving, Chloe situated in the passenger seat beside her, across the bridge overlooking the Chattahoochee River. She had made an attempt to swerve out of the way of an oncoming vehicle, the driver of which had been well over the legal alcohol intake limit, and collided front-on with the railing, the car crumpling like a useless tin can on impact.

Pictures from the scene cause Beca’s stomach to lurch, the idea that inside of the crushed front end of the car remained two people—one still living—making her feel physically sick.

It is enough to have Beca backspacing quickly out of the article, head shaking rapidly to rid her mind of the incoming thoughts.

She can understand why Chloe did a complete one-eighty in less than a year. Seeing her sister, body crushed beneath that wreckage? It is a thought Beca does not even want to imagine, but despite her best efforts, the imagery forces its way to the forefront of Beca’s mind like a horrible slow-motion movie. 

As her thoughts settle and a frightening quiet takes over, Beca steadies herself and vows to speak to Chloe. For real, this time.


	3. meet me in the middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca realises that perhaps actively participating in class might actually be a good thing... Unless Chloe shoots her down anyway. Also, Chloe’s friends kind of suck. Some more than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song title from _The Middle_ by Zedd  
> warnings for references to underage drinking, mention of trauma.

It does not occur to Beca at first that the seat normally occupied by Chloe in their morning geography class is currently empty.

Then again, Beca is very much _not_ a morning person; it is a miracle that she has made it to first period herself, let alone noticed who else is and is not in attendance. Naturally, she is in her own world; Dani had stayed over Stacie’s house last night, so Beca had helped herself to her earphones this morning—the smaller, more discrete ones that she can wear undetected and cover over with her hair during class. Beca much prefers her own large, chunky headphones, but they are not practical for class time, so the smaller buds will do.

In fact, Chloe doesn’t even cross her mind, truth be told, not until the sound of the classroom door swinging open catches most people’s attention. It is the following sound—a loud crash of falling books, followed by the sight of a stumbling Chloe Beale—that catches Beca’s.

An abrupt echo of juvenile laughter fills the room, and Beca sees, from the corner of her eye, Aubrey Posen dramatically clambering forward, ever the hero, to Chloe’s aid.

The warning glance Chicago shoots to the people seated around him does nothing to quieten their open amusement. It is not until the loud, obnoxious sound of _Nostalgic_ by A R I Z O N A begins to blast from the direction of Beca’s desk that her classmates finally tear their eyes from the apparently _hilarious_ sight of Chloe’s misfortune, laughter quickly dissipating, and amused expressions instead contorting to those of confusion.

“Oops,” Beca says dryly, glancing down at the phone now laid flat on her desk, wire from her earphones intentionally disconnected. “My bad.”

She does nothing to quieten the disruption.

“Rebecca,” Mr. Harris sighs defeatedly, evidently tired of having this same conversation over and over again. His thumb and index finger pinch at the thick bridge of his crooked nose, and he sounds bored as he proceeds. “What have I told you about cellphones in class?”

“Didn’t realize class had started yet,” Beca shrugs in response, slowly reaching out to slide the phone closer toward her, and eventually taps pause on the music application.

“Don’t let me see it again,” Mr. Harris grumbles, apparently not too concerned by the student to have literally just fallen over right in front of him.

As far as Beca can tell, Chloe is fine. She is now situated at her desk, and multiple sets of tired eyes have turned toward the front of the class, with Chloe no longer the focus.

No longer the focus to anyone but Beca, anyway.

She wonders if it is weird, the fact that she is staring. It’s probably weird, she decides, so Beca almost looks away as she sees Chloe slowly turning to stare right back at her. Though, as their gazes lock from across the room, it is impossible for her to do so. And she is glad, she really is, because the sight of Chloe’s small, appreciative smile, the way it causes her eyes to brighten if only for the briefest of moments, is all of the reward she needs.

Beca does not have a least favorite school subject. She does not discriminate, and instead actively hates most of them—geography, of course, very much included.

Having given away her hidden earphones plan with her earlier distraction, she is forced to pay at least some kind of mild attention to whatever it is Mr. Harris is saying. She notes his enthusiasm, and wonders if he realizes he is the only one in the room that actually _wants_ to be here.

She has a feeling he does not, especially as he dives into some long-winded spiel about their upcoming class project.

“As some of you will be graduating and leaving us at the end of the year,” Mr. Harris begins, “I feel an obligation to make sure you experience the wondrous sights of Georgia while you can. To wander them, if you will.” He pauses at that, apparently expecting a reaction—laughter, perhaps?—though, it does not come. So, Mr. Harris clears his throat, before proceeding. “For your class project, you must report on two or more wonders of Georgia. You will write about them, draw about them, take photographs of them, whatever your preferred medium may be to explain their significance to you and to Georgia, and why you chose to visit them. You will then present your projects to the class.”

To Beca, the only significance Georgia holds is her desperate longing to get out of it. And the thought of having to stand up front and _present_? Honestly, she cannot imagine an assignment any less appealing.

“Additionally,” Mr. Harris continues, “You will be doing this in teams of two.”

 _Ah_ , Beca thinks, _there it is_ ; the only stipulation that could make her any less enthused.

At first, anyway.

Beca is never picked first for group projects, not even pairs. She is usually stuck with whoever else is left once everybody else has teamed up, and does all she can to avoid actually participating at all, if she can help it. However, as Mr. Harris further explains the project, Beca finds her gaze drifting toward familiar red hair, a perhaps unconventional idea, laced with what is probably misguided hope, welling up within her.

“Mr. Harris?” Beca interrupts without invitation. It is not often that she gives any form of verbal input in class, so Mr. Harris immediately stops his rambling, and Beca notes the heads that turn her way—Chloe’s included.

“Yes, Rebecca?”

Beca powers through the immediate retort that threatens to escape her at the use of her full name. “Can we pick our own partners?” she asks instead, smiling as pleasantly as she can.

A brief look of confusion flashes across the teacher’s face—it is sad really, the fact that even he knows of Beca’s non-existent popularity, therefore likely no potential partner prospects—before he eventually nods his head in response. “Yes,” he says simply, quietly elated by Beca’s enthusiasm to even take part.

* * *

Beca spends the rest of class on some kind of high typically only found through her music. She feels giddiness thrumming through her as she eagerly anticipates the end of class, oddly looking forward to a school assignment for the first time in a while. Beca is just about finished drawing strength to approach Chloe after the bell rings when she is nudged aside, somewhat roughly, by some faceless jock. It is only when he turns to smirk at her that she sees it’s Chicago Walp, an incessant thorn in her side and dumb as hell, if she’s being completely honest. It’s a wonder that he’s in their grade, let alone one of the most popular boys in school, but she never really understood the exact metrics of high school hierarchies and popularity.

She swallows when she sees him greet Chloe pleasantly like they’re old friends—like he _knows_ Chloe more than she does...which she supposes is true.

It just happens to also send bitterness through her like a bolt of lightning. A reminder of how much she still does not know about Chloe, her life; a reminder that one fateful moment shared on an early March morning between two people that were probably never meant to meet was just that. A coincidence.

Her earlier elation now completely evaporated, Beca shoves her books into her bag and stares forlornly at the headphones at the bottom of her bag. Deciding against music for the moment, she shoulders her bag and quickly moves to leave the classroom, suddenly hellbent on skipping her classes for the rest of the day just to quell the rushing in her mind.

Beca nearly runs right into Aubrey Posen’s back when she turns the corner. She would recognize that unnaturally straight back anywhere.

“Chloe,” Aubrey is saying with distinct passion in her voice. “Please come tonight.”

Chloe sighs. A distinct click of the locker as it closes. “Aubrey, I have…” she trails off like she isn’t sure what plans she has exactly, just that she would rather be anywhere else except that party. Beca can relate.

“Chloe, come on,” Aubrey says in an unfamiliar tone to Beca. It is...soft. Desperate, almost. “I...miss you.”

Beca nearly trips over air, still struggling to listen as she walks away slowly. Faintly, she hears Chloe sigh, then, very quietly, “for you, I will.”

For some reason, an indescribable sadness rises in Beca as she trails to a stop in the middle of the hallway. Around her, people bustle past her, muttering and shaking their heads because the day has not stopped for anybody else. She longs to turn around, to tell Chloe how much she cares, but she knows she _can’t_. Not yet, anyway.

Slowly, she drags her feet along, walking further away down the hall.

The sadness lingers for the rest of the day.

* * *

Attending parties ought to be akin to riding a bike: somehow Chloe never expected she’d _forget_ how to attend parties because being social was just another part of her everyday personality, like the most innate muscle memory.

But she supposes a part of her died that day as well. That day all their lives were undeniably changed and altered forever.

Looking around, Chloe swallows the bitterness in her mouth, a bitterness which has nothing to do with alcohol. Not everybody’s lives were changed forever, she muses. The upside to attending a high school party is how loud it is for absolutely no reason other than to drown out the sound of people pretending to have fun. The cynicism is new too, but it feels better than just hurting all the time with all the phantom aches that pass through her like a reminder of her own survival.

The noise drowns out the rushing in her ears—the same rushing that often gives way to the memory of metal crashing against unforgiving concrete.

So, despite the fact that Chloe would much rather be holed up in her bedroom, the same way she spends most evenings as of late, she supposes choosing to attend this party—not that she had much of a choice; how else was she supposed to respond to Aubrey’s _I miss you_ —does have its upsides.

Besides, her parents have been on her case to get out more, so she is appeasing multiple people by being here, even if none of those people are herself.

“Drink?” Florencia Fuentes asks with a hopeful gleam in her eye. She is already holding out a red solo cup, the contents of which are a mystery to Chloe. To be honest, she doesn’t really care to know what’s in it; she knows already that she does not want to accept.

Not that she gets a choice, of course.

“‘Course she’ll have a drink,” a loud, unmistakable voice responds for her. Chloe doesn’t even have the time to turn around before she feels the strong weight of Chicago’s muscular arm hanging obtrusively around her shoulders. He accepts the cup, as if Chloe is incapable of making her own decisions, and hands it over to her with purpose. She does not see the point in resisting.

“Thanks, Flo,” Chloe offers politely, fingers wrapping delicately around the cool plastic of the cup. It is with a swift motion that she ducks from Chicago’s one-armed embrace. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

Considering the popularity of these regular parties, it is easy for Chloe to lose her friends in the crowd, and to slip undetected—or so she thinks—toward the kitchen, where she proceeds to dump out the clear colored contents of her cup.

Apparently, privacy is not a virtue Chloe is afforded these days; if it’s not her parents hovering outside of her bedroom door, then it is her friends blowing up her phone. Or, as in this current case, Chicago evidently keeping an unwanted eye on her.

Chicago is not her boyfriend. He has never _been_ her boyfriend. The best descriptor for her relationship with Chicago Walp is a brief fling, one that Chloe was barely interested in to begin with, but that still seems to make him feel some kind of entitlement to her.

“Didn’t like the drink?” Chicago asks. The way his lips purse entirely judgmentally does not escape Chloe.

“No, not really,” Chloe lies, though they are both fully aware that she hadn’t taken so much as a sip before disposing of it.

Many things had changed for Chloe that fateful night. Where most teens will do all they can to get their hands on some form of alcohol or other—Chloe included before—she now harbors a deep, distinct hatred for the stuff. Chloe wholly believes that, had the driver of the truck to have caused their fateful collision been sober, the outcome would’ve been much different; Amber would still be here, alive and well. While Chicago may be somewhat dense, she had assumed before now that even he understood her newfound aversion, though the way he sighs exasperatedly tells her that her faith in him is misguided.

“Chloe,” Chicago begins, moving a step or two closer. The noise level from the multiple conversations going on around them is pretty high, but Chicago lowers the sound of his own voice, and is standing close enough for Chloe to still hear him, close enough for the sickeningly sweet smell of his cologne to fill her nostrils. “I’m worried about you. I mean, I know that what happened to your family sucked, but it’s been a year, you know?” The way he stares into her eyes does leave a hint that he genuinely cares and for the briefest of moments, Chloe thinks she might believe it. However, his words of course betray him, and in fact show the exact kind of person he really is. “When are you gonna just...I don’t know, get over it?”

Chloe freezes. How badly she would like to move on and pretend that nothing happened. _But that’s not what I’m saying_ , would be his desperate reply. _It’s been...a year_. The never-ending chorus, indicative of how much people rely on the passage of time to heal personal traumas.

Then, perhaps a little too forgivingly, Chloe pauses for a moment. She hopes to give Chicago the chance to realize his mistake; she hopes that he may even backtrack.

He doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t, because he believes that what he is saying is right and just, that it’s _fair_.

It is not fair, not in the slightest, and Chloe intends to make him see as such.

A brief silence follows, it lingers thickly in the air between them, before Chloe cannot hold back her feelings any longer.

“You know how you can leave your room, walk down the hallway and you’re in your brother’s room?” Chloe asks, in a soft voice she barely recognizes. She takes in the blank reaction of her former fling. “And he’s right there? I don’t get that luxury anymore. I go to Amber’s room, and it’s empty. I don’t get to walk into my house and hear her laugh, or hear her yelling at me for taking her shirt without permission. I’m never going to get that again, and I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient for you that I’m not just _over it_ , but I’m not, I’m never going to be.”

There are way too many pent up emotions inside of Chloe, apparently much too deep for them to resonate with Chicago at all, at least judging by the blank look he continues to fire her way. It is pointless for her to continue, he’s never going to get it. Nobody in this room, or the next room, or anywhere in this house is ever going to understand, so Chloe quickly bites her tongue, because what is the point?

“You know what? Forget it,” Chloe sighs, head shaking gently as she drops the empty cup into the sink. “I think I’m done here.”

She turns to leave, an action she considers long overdue despite having been here for less than thirty minutes in total, and actively ignores Chicago’s attempts to coax her back.

* * *

It is not often that Stacie comes over to Beca and Dani’s place.

Even Dani, who is genuinely proud of their modest, two-bedroom abode, knows that their home is not the most inviting. It is small and compact, with a refrigerator never quite sufficiently stocked. The heat is flaky, which isn’t quite a problem on most nights considering how warm Georgia is usually. The attic had been repurposed long ago into a bedroom, which Beca had immediately claimed for herself, letting her sister have the more stable, functional bedroom.

For all its faults, it is still home.

A home that Beca returns to regularly each day. A home in which Dani still does not like leaving her alone every single night, despite the fact that Beca is eighteen years old, perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

Tonight, it would seem, as Beca resurfaces from a lengthy submergence beneath the bath water to the quiet sound of lighthearted laughter downstairs, the two have planted themselves here for the evening.

Beca does not dislike Stacie. In fact, truth be told, she is actually one of the few people in this town that Beca can tolerate. She likes the way Stacie treats her sister, likes how happy she seems to make her. What she does not like, however, is the thought of getting beneath their feet, invading their time together, so as Beca tugs on a clean pair of leggings and a thick, oversized sweater, she has already made up her mind that it is time for a walk.

* * *

Somewhat subconsciously, Beca finds her feet leading her right up the path to Florencia Fuentes’ house, a frequent destination for parties and get-togethers. Beca has been there only once or twice—the _two_ times she had been invited to a party solely because she had helped Flo during their media studies class the previous semester—but the path feels familiar, though not any less daunting.

Her playlist is eclectic tonight and she feels a sense of clarity unlike the previous nights. Her usual bouts of loneliness are not present, but not in the way she is accustomed to. Though the sentiment lingers, she feels more confident and more sure.

Like she is meant to be out and about on this particular night. Total coincidence, fate, and every last moniker for destiny rolled into one. No expectations, none at all—she is not hoping to run into anybody on this brisk evening.

A quick glance at her watch tells her that it is close to ten o’clock, probably close to when most people would choose to _arrive_ at the party, high school curfews be damned. It seemed like wariness over being out late at night had long dissipated and all that was left was the innate human will to just live and be reckless. That much, Beca could relate to.

The relative earliness of the evening makes something in Beca tense up in disappointment. Regret, even. She hadn’t been hoping to see Chloe, not really. She had just thought that maybe—

“Oh,” she says aloud without realizing it.

She sees Chloe, literally, walking down the path towards her. Her hands are stuffed in the pockets of her light jacket and her head is bowed low. Her hair is up in a ponytail again, but there is something distinctly more relaxed about the style as loose tendrils fall around her face. Beca is sure that if her eyesight were better, she’d confidently say that Chloe’s hair is framing her face nicely.

“HI!” Beca calls before she can stop herself. She’s still a distance away and Chloe looks up, startled. Beca waves at Chloe who slows to a stop and tilts her head as if trying to see more clearly. “It’s Beca!” she calls, continuing to walk towards Chloe, barely resisting from breaking into a light jog. She doesn’t want to startle Chloe further. “From the br—” she cuts herself off. “From class!”

Much closer now, Chloe seems to relax as she sees that Beca isn’t some unhinged stranger. “You’re out late,” Chloe comments as Beca slows to a stop in front of her. “Heading to the party?”

Beca blinks, wondering if Chloe is subtly making fun of her, but Chloe appears to be asking with genuine interest. It is a reminder that Chloe is not cruel or unkind. Chloe never _asked_ for popularity or to be included at all in the social hierarchy. It just happened, but Chloe hadn’t changed because of it.

It was something Beca always admired about her.

“No,” Beca replies simply. “Just taking one of my walks.”

“Do you ever…” Chloe looks like she might smile. “Have a destination in mind? Or does this just happen.”

“Are you asking if I’m stalking you?”

This time, Chloe’s lips twitch more obviously. “I am now.”

“Just lucky I guess.”

“Me or you?”

Beca grins. “She’s witty,” she drawls. “I like that. Seems like she’d make a good partner for a certain project.”

Chloe sighs. “I’m not doing that, Rebecca, so don’t even try.”

“Wait,” Beca says, completely ignoring Chloe’s use of her full name. _I want to get to know you._ It’s the bravest she’s felt in years. “I think we’d be good partners though. And since we just happened to run into each other…”

“Right, we did. Because of luck,” Chloe says with a mockingly serious expression on her face. It ought to get on Beca’s nerves, but she’s delighted at the reaction.

“Exactly because of luck, Chloe no middle name Beale.”

Chloe laughs, or rather, she giggles. A full blown giggle that makes Beca’s chest threaten to cave in from the sheer force of affection she feels for Chloe. Two chance encounters—because this hadn’t been planned, not really—and she’s totally fucked. Chloe’s eyes then flit to the headphones around her neck. “What are you listening to tonight?”

Beca’s hands come up to her headphones, almost protectively. “Nothing.”

“I bet it’s something embarrassing then.”

Beca is offended. “Nothing about my music is embarrassing.”

“Share,” Chloe demands.

“You liked the Pink song didn’t you?” Beca asks knowingly before she freezes, glancing at Chloe nervously. She isn’t sure if she was meant to reference that night so explicitly, meeting Chloe at that bridge—a crossroads for both of them. The week and a half since then has felt like an entire lifetime.

Beca wonders if Chloe thought about speaking to her again as well. If Chloe thought about her at all.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Chloe admits. Then, after a quick breath and a glance at Beca’s expression, “The song, I mean.”

“I knew that,” Beca says quickly.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “So where are you going, then? If you’re not going to the party and not...going anywhere else.”

“I don’t think I _need_ a destination,” Beca says defensively. “Where are you going? Oh…” Beca trails off. “Party was a bust, huh.”

Chloe shrugs. “I wasn’t feeling it.” She squints at Beca, pausing in her contemplation. Beca tries not to shrink under Chloe’s gaze. “If I let you walk me home, will you let me listen to your music?”

“That sounds like a fair exchange, Chloe Beale.”

* * *

“Well, this is you,” Beca says, gesturing at Chloe’s house. She blushes when Chloe raises an eyebrow at her. “Not that you needed...that information.”

“Where do you live? Is it far?”

“No, I literally live like ten minutes away.”

Chloe’s eyes widen in concern. “That’s...it’s late—”

“I’ll be fine,” Beca promises. “Practically the same neighborhood.”

It isn’t, not really, but the visible slump of Chloe’s shoulders as tension escapes tells Beca that she made the right decision.

“If you’re sure.”

“I know where I live,” Beca says lightly.

Chloe bites her lip. “Well, I’ll...walk you home one day then.” She pulls out her phone. “And maybe you should text me when you get home.” Her eyes narrow. “In ten minutes.”

Beca dreads having to basically jog home in order to meet that ten-minute deadline, but she pulls Chloe’s phone towards her eagerly and taps her number in. Chloe fires off a quick _hi_ so Beca receives her number.

Beca tries not to smile too widely as to freak Chloe out even more. “Goodnight then, Chloe Beale.”

Chloe gives her an exasperated expression. “Goodnight Rebecca Mitchell.”

Beca makes sure to walk out of Chloe’s line of sight slowly before dashing off around the corner.

Ten minutes. She can do it.

* * *

It occurs to Beca later that night after she is fully settled under her weighted blanket that she had forgotten one crucial bit of information. She tugs at her phone from the nightstand and peers at the screen before selecting her messaging application.

Her earlier _‘im home!!!’_ message to Chloe stares up at her. She tries not to stare too long at the tiny red heart reaction Chloe had added on to the message.

It _does_ kind of stand out against the message—not Beca’s fault that she keeps looking right at it.

 **Beca  
** _it’s just beca btw an fyi if you will_

Chloe’s reply comes almost instantaneously.

 **Chloe  
** _okay ‘just beca’_


	4. you go searching for paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actively participating in class means that Beca and Chloe have to meet up eventually...and agree to be partners for their geography project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Khalid’s “Paradise”. All previous disclaimers still stand. Note updated warning.

Saturdays used to be for elaborate, messy breakfast attempts. Saturdays used to be filled with loud music echoing all throughout the kitchen. Saturdays used to be for nothing and everything all at once. Chloe and her sister would wear thick, mismatched socks that were perfect for sliding across kitchen tiles. The sound of their parents’ voices echoing everywhere, telling them to _stop_ or they’d hurt themselves.

Chloe stares at her empty cereal bowl on a particularly cloudy Saturday morning, noting the distinct absence of yelling or laughter or just _anything_ , really. She misses the weightlessness she had felt back then—back when crashing into the counter seemed like the most dangerous thing in the world. Now, Chloe barely wants to _look_ at a car, barely wants to listen to music.

Barely wants to go out.

“Chloe,” Michelle Beale’s voice cuts in quietly. Her mother’s voice breaks past the slow fog surrounding her head, a fog more common than ever. “Do you have plans today?”

As per her response for the past year, Chloe sticks to her go-to. “No,” she replies, stirring the remnants of milk and soggy cereal in her bowl. “Lots of homework to do.”

“You went out the other night, though? When your friend dropped you off.”

Chloe bristles and tries not to think about her parents watching her every move, like they’re so afraid she’ll break and collapse under their watch. The more lighthearted side of her, however, brightens up a bit at the mention of Beca and all her awkwardness. “Yeah,” Chloe responds, attempting to keep a conversation going. “Party was a little boring though, that’s why I came home early.”

“As long as you’re—” _safe,_ Chloe thinks. “—having fun,” Michelle whispers, reaching out to brush hair away from Chloe’s forehead. She then leans in to kiss Chloe’s forehead. “We just want you to go out more. Spend some time with your friends.”

“You and dad want me to go out more?” Chloe asks to clarify. “Call the press, you might be the only parents who actively want that for their high school kid.”

Michelle looks surprised at Chloe’s effort to keep up some form of conversation, opting to hover by Chloe’s side instead of leaving like she might have done previously. “I mean, you are eighteen, sweetie. We’re not really…” she shrugs. “You can do what you want, but we don’t want to see you unhappy.”

Chloe says nothing, choosing instead to bite at the corner of her mouth. The sudden sting saps away some of the equally sudden ache in her heart at the thought that Amber never got to see past the age of eighteen. Chloe doesn’t want to waste the chance that she has, but it’s hard. Everything for the past year has just been _hard._

The sting doesn’t quite leave, even when her mother does.

It would be easy—habit, even—for Chloe to stalk off to her room for the rest of the morning, especially without the disapproving yet well-meaning look from her mother to stop her. In fact, a part of her really wishes she had when the sight of a familiar car passes slowly by the window beside her. Chloe is not sure she has the energy to deal with this today.

Chloe watches Aubrey exit her car and make her way to the front porch. Before Aubrey even gets the chance to ring the doorbell, Chloe has already made her way to the front door, so she swings it open without regard for her current lazy attire (she is still in her pajamas). She notices Aubrey’s smile right away, and attempts to mirror it with a halfhearted smile of her own.

“Good morning,” Aubrey chirps much too cheerfully for Chloe’s liking.

“Morning,” Chloe responds, attempting to hide her slight confusion. “Um, is everything okay?”

It is only at that point that Chloe looks beyond Aubrey and toward her car, the sight of Flo sitting in the passenger seat and waving wildly toward her causing her to smile briefly.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Aubrey continues, motioning to her phone in her hand. “Flo and I tried to call you a bunch of times. We’re going to the mall, do you want to come?”

Aubrey knows of Chloe’s aversion to driving anywhere, though Chloe knows there is no malice nor pressure in her showing up here the way she has. For as intense as Aubrey can be sometimes, Chloe knows that she never means any harm. She is simply trying to include her, and while Chloe doesn’t necessarily _want_ to be included, she is appreciative nonetheless.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Chloe says with an apologetic look. “I left my phone upstairs.” With a quick, brief glance over her shoulder, just to make sure neither of her parents are hovering anywhere within earshot, she focuses her attention on Aubrey again. “I actually can’t do anything today.”

She hopes she does not need to offer a reason, though the disappointed look on Aubrey’s face has her continuing, and Chloe admits silently to herself that it is a little unsettling, how easy it is for her to lie right to her best friend’s face. “It’s just that my parents are going to visit some friends, and they want me to go with them.”

“Oh…” Aubrey nods, her incessant need to respect authority figures—parents included—fueling her desire not to argue. Her expression perks up slightly, apparently content with the excuse. “Well, that’s okay. Did you partner up with anybody for Mr. Harris’ assignment yet?”

Truthfully, the geography project has been lingering in Chloe’s mind since the previous night. The idea of traveling the state is entirely unappealing to her, though that is not the reason she has spent as much time as she has thinking into it.

“Oh. Um, no. No, my parents are actually going to talk to Mr. Harris about getting me out of the project.” She offers Aubrey a weak smile, one that hopefully conveys her regret to be letting her down, despite the fact that Aubrey hasn’t outright asked her to be her partner yet. She knows it is coming. “It’s just a little much right now, you know?”

For the last year now, people have had a habit of staring at Chloe in a very specific way, one that shows their sympathy and understanding for how broken she is, how delicate they feel they have to be with her. Aubrey is one of the rare exceptions, one of the people to treat her like she is still human, though at that, she shoots Chloe that very look, the one she has grown to detest. “I understand,” Aubrey says softly, a dainty hand reaching out to comfortingly squeeze Chloe’s arm.

It is unlike Chloe, someone usually so forthcoming and open, to lie twice within the space of one conversation, and to her best friend no less, but she chooses not to take it back. A certain level of guilt does begin to weigh on her as the two say their goodbyes, however, so the sad smile is genuine but unintentional as she waves her friends off on their journey.

As bad as she does feel, she does not regret her decision. Not even as she makes her way slowly toward her bedroom in search of her phone, with one very specific purpose in mind.

* * *

Saturdays, like most days in Beca’s home, are generally quiet and uneventful. Occasionally, she can expect a fleeting visit from her father and step-mother. But, for the most part, with Dani either working, taking classes, or out with Stacie, Beca will have the house to herself.

As far as a social life goes, Beca’s is admittedly basically non-existent. She can count on one hand (and still have fingers left over) the amount of friends she has, and even then she doesn’t see much of them outside of school. So, Beca almost has to do a double-take as she notices her phone screen lighting up on the desk beside her with an incoming call.

Quickly, she pauses the track she had previously been editing on her computer, blinking a couple times at the name up on her screen.

Perhaps it is a little strange, the fact that her throat grows dry momentarily...or, perhaps it isn’t strange at all, all things considered. Either way, Beca swallows as she grasps the cups of her headphones, lowering them down to their default position around her neck, and swiftly reaches for her phone.

“Chloe Beale,” she says into the receiver in place of a greeting, phone now pressed against her ear.

“No cars,” is Chloe’s sudden response.

“Uh, what?” Beca blinks, the sound of confused amusement likely evident in her voice.

“The project,” Chloe continues. “If you really want me to be your partner, okay. I will. But that’s my condition, we don’t drive anywhere.”

For a brief moment, Beca wonders whether she is imagining this entire interaction. She also wonders how they are supposed to carry out an assignment that requires them to explore the state of Georgia without the use of a car. Though, it is without thought that she finds herself responding, head nodding shortly in the process. “Okay, no cars. You got it.” She pauses. “Uh, question though... If we don’t drive, how do we get around?”

Chloe laughs, a small, mildly sardonic sound. But a laugh nonetheless, enough to send Beca’s heart racing once more. “Figure it out, Beca Mitchell.”

Less than an hour later, as Beca stands in the middle of a used bicycle store feeling entirely out of her depth, she almost regrets having ever even asked.

* * *

Beca wheels her bike up the driveway to Chloe’s house. She mulls over ringing the doorbell or just hovering awkwardly outside with her new old bike until Chloe makes her appearance.

Chloe’s abrupt _want to do something today?_ might have been a mitigating factor in actually purchasing that tacky, bright green bicycle, but Beca refuses to confirm or deny that mentally. She feels that same unfamiliar giddiness, a spark she had thought she’d never feel again, as she waits with anticipation.

**Beca  
** _Here_

**Chloe  
** _Lol i see you_

Beca is about to send back another playful—she hopes—text but Chloe’s voice interrupts her. “So impatient,” she comments, shutting her front door. “Let me get my bike.” She raises an eyebrow upon getting a full eyeful of Beca’s bike and the deathgrip Beca has on the handles. “Nice bike.”

“It’s a personal treasure,” Beca defends.

Chloe smiles. “It’s unique, I’m sure.” She moves around to her garage, opening the door, waiting as the door glides upward. Beca notices two cars parked inside, shiny and new. She assumes that they are Chloe’s parents’ cars, but she says nothing about the matter. Chloe wanders into the garage and wheels out her own bike, a basic, sleek black bike that Beca is instantly envious of.

“Why can’t that be my bike,” Beca asks, pretending to be upset. “I should get a refund.”

“You bought a bike for this?” Chloe asks, surprise coloring her tone.

Beca blushes, instantly registering her mistake. “Um, no,” she mumbles, looking down.

Chloe, to her credit, says nothing more, but she smiles—a full, real smile—gratefully at Beca. “Well, biking is fun and healthy.”

It is said without a hint of sarcasm or irony. Beca marvels at how simply Chloe sees it—that Chloe doesn’t absolutely _die_ at the thought of physical activity is a miracle in its own right. “You’re something else,” Beca says, decidedly _not_ of the same mindset. “Well, let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Chloe asks as she buckles on her helmet. “And please don’t give me some vague response.”

Beca pretends to be shocked. “I thought you were picking the first place!” At Chloe’s indignant glare, she chuckles. “I’m kidding. I made a shortlist of places.”

“We shouldn’t do too many places,” Chloe says with a hint of discomfort. “This project is kind of dumb, so let’s not...prolong it.”

Beca tries not to let that hurt her feelings too much because she knows it isn’t personal. Chloe is probably ready to be done with high school like ninety-nine percent of their class. Beca is too. This just feels like something she _has_ to do.

“First on my list,” Beca says, pulling out her phone from her pocket. “Have you ever wanted to be marooned on an island?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Chloe says dryly, though a hint of intrigue creeps into her tone and she shuffles closer to Beca, bike in tow. “What are you talking about?”

“Follow me.”

* * *

“You’re kidding me,” Chloe says, when Beca points to the small spot of land in the middle of the shallow, somewhat circular stream running through a local nature reserve.

“Come on.”

“How do we even get there?”

Beca is already unlacing her boots. “Walk?”

“It’s—”

“Chloe, it’s super safe. This stream is like five inches deep.”

“But—”

“ _Chloe_ ,” Beca says in exasperation. “I promise that I can swim and I will save you from five inches of water. Besides,” she says, pointing her shoes vaguely behind her. “I know a secret path.”

Chloe hesitates, but drops her helmet nonetheless and kicks off her shoes haphazardly, leaving Beca with a quiet sense of elation about the fact that Chloe evidently _trusts_ her. “Okay,” she agrees. “But if I trip, I’m going to kill you.”

“You _won’t_ ,” Beca promises. “It’s super safe. Come on,” she says, holding out her hand for Chloe.

To her delight, Chloe takes her offered hand and follows her across the small path of rocks—just fortuitous rocks placed there by the movement of water and kids over the years. But it is a stable path nonetheless, letting them hover ever so slightly over the water. The chill from the water lapping at their toes plus Chloe’s disgruntled squeals as water laps up her ankles makes for an entirely new and pleasant experience, considering that this, like most paths, is one Beca usually takes alone. Beca clambers up the small bank first before extending her hands towards Chloe again, pulling her onto the ‘island’.

“This is tiny,” Chloe says, walking right to the middle of the small patch of land. “I bet this floods over completely when it rains.”

Beca notes that Chloe doesn’t sound totally put off, instead she is already sitting, cross legged, right where a small patch of sun shines.

“It’s totally an island.”

“How is this an island?” Chloe asks. “Have you ever been to an island?”

Beca mockingly scowls at her. “Not all of us can afford family vacations like that, Chloe Beale.”

Chloe blushes furiously right to her forehead. “No, that’s not what I -- nevermind. Forget I said anything.” She pats the grass. “Sit down so I don’t feel like the only loser here.”

“We’re surrounded by water,” Beca declares gesturing at the extremely shallow, pathetic circular stream of water around them. “And now there’s no way to get out.” She sends a sly look to Chloe. “What should we do?”

Chloe picks at the grass. “I don’t know,” she mumbles.

“What do you normally do on Saturdays?” Beca asks.

Chloe is quiet for a moment. “Nothing,” she says finally.

“You’re one of the most popular girls at school and you’re telling me you do nothing on Saturdays?”

Chloe bites at the inside of her mouth before responding. “Is that what you think of me?” she asks quietly.

“No,” Beca admits contritely. She is genuinely upset by her own words. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I say dumb shit like that. I’m not very good at this.”

Chloe lets go of some of the blades of grass between her fingers. “Good at what? Talking?”

“Having friends,” Beca says simply. “And yeah. I guess talking comes with the territory.”

Chloe isn’t sure what to say to _that_ , but she feels sad again, this time not for herself or her sister, but for Beca. Beca, who somehow looks smaller than before with her hunched shoulders and long, wavy hair almost obscuring her face as she looks down. It wasn’t like Chloe _didn’t_ know who Beca was, it was just widely assumed and then further accepted that Beca preferred to be alone.

Chloe understands more than ever that some things aren’t necessarily results of a choice.

They sit together in silence for a long while. Beca fiddles with the laces on her boots before unlacing them entirely and retying them if only to do something with her hands. Chloe pulls out her notebook from her satchel and begins flipping through random pages.

“What’s that?” Beca asks as nonchalantly as she can.

“An old book that I thought I’d use to take notes for this project thing.”

“What’s in it?”

Chloe sighs. “Just...old drawings. I don’t know. I used to draw a lot. Sketches here and there.”

Beca files that away for later. “Hey,” she says suddenly. “Chloe no middle name Beale. Look at me.”

Chloe looks up at her, exasperated. “Yes, Beca Mitchell.” Beca immediately locks her gaze on Chloe’s with an intensity that makes Chloe physically recoil before she narrows her gaze. “What are you doing?”

“This is now a staring contest and you’re going down.”

(If Beca’s being honest, she didn’t think this through properly. She had hoped simply to make Chloe smile or laugh, but she hadn’t thought about how her own heart would react to the mere sight of Chloe’s intense, blue eyes.

Bright blue gaze locked onto Beca’s own gaze, with nowhere else to go.

Beca is _fucked_.)

To Chloe’s credit, she doesn’t back down. She has a streak of competitiveness leftover from whatever part of her previous self rises to the surface from time to time. Being with Beca is easy and if she allows herself to think about it, being with Beca is _fun_.

Being with Beca feels natural.

“Marooned on an island and this is all you have to show for it,” Beca comments a few moments later as she rubs her eyes. “Winning a staring contest.”

“You’re such a sore loser.”

* * *

They make their way to a picnic table eventually where Chloe pulls out a few granola bars. Beca zeroes in on the stitching on Chloe’s satchel.

_CRB_

“What’s your middle name?” Beca asks.

“I don’t have one,” Chloe replies instantaneously, too quick for that to be remotely true.

Plus- “What’s that, then?” Beca pushes, pointing at the stitching on Chloe’s bag.

Chloe shoves her bag off the table. “Nothing.”

“R...R...so your middle name starts with an R. Chloe ‘R’ Beale. Like Toys ‘R’ Us.”

Chloe bursts out laughing at that, a full blown laugh that startles Beca and perhaps a few nearby birds.

* * *

Beca does not know how much time passes. She _does_ know that she is having fun though, that being here with Chloe is easy. There are no awkward silences, never any desperate need to reach for her phone and check the time. If anything, Beca prays silently that time will move more slowly somehow.

“You know, you ask so many questions,” Chloe points out following a mundane question about where she got her bike helmet. “Why are you so chatty? You’re usually so quiet.”

“How do you know how I am usually?”

Chloe blushes. “I...don’t. I don’t know. I just do.” She huffs. “Well, don’t change the subject.”

Beca snickers. “Okay, then ask me a question, weirdo. I wasn’t stopping you.”

Chloe doesn’t even have to think, it’s like she has been wondering this all day. “What do you do with your free time?” She asks, a distinct level of interest behind her tone. “I mean, I never actually see you out anywhere. You’re never at any of the parties.”

“There’s more to life than partying,” Beca points out, realizing she sounds exactly like a person at least fifty years her senior. “I go out.”

“Okay,” Chloe nods, accepting the response, but evidently in search of a deeper explanation. “Where?”

“How do you think I knew where to find this?” Beca shrugs, gaze drifting downward toward the loose thread she has begun absentmindedly picking on her jeans. These are not deep questions, nothing invasive, but somehow Beca finds that she struggles when it comes to talking about herself. “I walk places.”

Beca ignores the brief glance from Chloe toward her beat up combat boots—Beca knows herself that they are not exactly ideal for walking. But, they work for her, the same way they worked for Dani, and that is all that matters.

“Alone?” Chloe questions. Beca notices as she glances upward that Chloe’s head is tilted slightly, that she’s watching her. In fact, she’s almost studying her, and Beca doesn’t know whether it should make her feel uneasy or not.

“I told you, I’m not great at the friend thing.”

Almost like she is afraid she has touched a nerve somehow—she hasn’t—Chloe chooses not to press any further, and instead just gently nods her head.

“I like to write music too,” Beca offers unprompted. She does not realize the way her eyes light up slightly at the very topic, nor that Chloe instantly takes notice.

“You write songs?” Chloe asks, her interest piqued once more.

“Music,” Beca clarifies. “Songs, melodies… Music.”

There is a slight upturn to the corner of Chloe’s mouth, one that prompts a look of mild confusion from Beca in return. “What?”

“Nothing,” Chloe chuckles softly. “I guess I should’ve just figured, that’s all. I mean, I think this might be the first time I’ve _ever_ seen you without your headphones.”

“I didn’t know you paid so much attention to me,” Beca shoots back playfully, her own smirk now mirroring Chloe’s.

At that, Chloe simply rolls her eyes, though it is done playfully.

Beca also notes that Chloe does nothing to deny it.

* * *

It is not exactly dark by the time they return home, but the sun has certainly begun to set. There is a brief moment where Chloe insists she drop Beca off, to make good on her promise from the other night, but Beca explains that they will reach Chloe’s place first, and that there is really no point in her going out of her way.

It’s not like Beca is embarrassed about where she lives, despite the fact that it is not at all up to the same standard as the Beale household. Mostly, she just does not want Chloe to know she lied about how far away it is. Fortunately, Chloe does not argue.

“You’ll text me when you’re home, right?” Chloe asks as she climbs steadily off of her bike, fingers wrapped securely around the handles.

“Right,” Beca nods, a part of her wanting to search for an excuse to stay. Though, she doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to overwhelm Chloe at all. So, instead she offers her a departing smile, though cannot help but quickly add, “More tomorrow?”

Chloe’s head tilts in questioning.

“Exploring,” Beca clarifies. “For the project.”

“Oh,” Chloe nods, “Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good. I had fun today.”

“Me too.”

There is a sense of silence that follows, one filled only by the quietly moving breeze, and Beca isn’t entirely sure what to do with it. “Alright,” she finally says, beginning to wheel her bike backward from Chloe’s driveway. “So, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Chloe confirms as she makes her way toward the garage door, shooting Beca a glance over her shoulder. “Goodnight then, Beca Mitchell.”

Beca’s grin in response is more toothy than she would like. “Night, Chloe R Beale.”

* * *

The bike ride home is a blur, mostly because Beca is peddling so fast that the wind whips in her face until she feels tears spring to her eyes.

Also because Beca feels the oddest kind of excitement bubbling up inside her, like she ought to write down a thought of some kind. Breathless, she brakes hard right on her driveway next to her sister’s beat-up sedan.

It is fleeting, but clear, the single thought that floats through her mind. Fleeting enough that she pulls out her crumpled sticky note pad and her sharpie immediately to jot the thought down.

_she loves to draw_

She gazes at the messy scrawl before she drops her bike on the front porch. After a moment’s hesitation, she picks it up and gently props the bicycle against the railing so it looks ready for another adventure.

“Nice bike,” Dani comments the second Beca walks through the door. She is standing by the kitchen window, peering out at the new addition with curiosity. All Beca does is shrug in response, offering her sister an uncharacteristically cheerful smile, before setting her phone down on the counter.

Instantly, she makes a beeline for the fridge, and does not quite register the fact that she is humming breezily to herself in the process.

Beca is about to reply to Dani’s _where’d you get it?_ when her phone chimes obnoxiously from the counter. She cuts a glance to her sister before they both leap at the phone.

“Who’s _Chloe_?” Dani asks when she uses her height and long-arm advantage to grab the phone before Beca’s fingers can even graze it. “Why’s she checking in on you?”

Beca flushes. “She’s not checking on me.”

“She is. She’s literally demanding why you haven’t responded to her yet. She sounds _so_ concerned.”

“Give me that!”

Beca makes a mental note to change her iMessage settings to the banner with no preview.

“She’s why you’re in a good mood?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Beca groans, snatching the phone from her sister’s grasp.

Dani has the height and the strength of the two, but she allows Beca to win. She is already smug in the knowledge that there is _something_ going on with Beca anyway, so chooses not to push for now. Instead, she watches on with an amused smirk as Beca dips quickly from the room, eyes down on her phone screen.

Beca doesn’t know if it’s weird or not, the fact that Chloe’s message makes her smile.

**Chloe  
** _Um hello? What happened to texting me when you were home safely?_

It’s nice really, to know that somebody actively cares. Even nicer somehow that that _somebody_ just happens to be Chloe.

Beca is transported back to an earlier conversation as she reaches her attic bedroom, flopping back lazily onto her bed. She holds her phone up above her as she quickly types out her response, amused grin never wavering.

**Beca  
** _So impatient_


	5. you pull me close, guiding me home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another place to visit with a side of fond memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings - just cheese.
> 
> Chapter title from James Arthur's "Falling Like The Stars".

Even if it is only day two of this adventure with Chloe Beale, Beca already feels as if they have managed to fall into some kind of routine. Like the previous day, Beca rides her bike to Chloe’s house, although this time Chloe is already outside and waiting for her, helmet on and ready to go.

Her neat ponytail has become something of a signature style for Chloe as of late, but Beca notices, as they begin to ride toward their second destination, she is wearing her curls loose today. She ties them back the moment her helmet is removed, but Beca can’t help but take note of how well they frame her face for the split moment beforehand.

“Why do you always wear your hair up?” Beca asks conversationally.

“Why do you wear yours down?”

Touche. Beca doesn’t let that slow her down and she quickly pedals to keep up with Chloe who has ridden ahead of her. “You’ve noticed,” she crows, pleased.

Chloe scoffs. “You noticed first,” she mutters, but a hint of a blush creeps across her cheeks, vibrantly pink in the sunlight.

Beca can’t say much to that, mostly because it is entirely too true.

“Where are we going?” Chloe asks.

 _Who knows at this point?_ Beca thinks. Outwardly, she sighs and pumps her legs to pedal ahead of Chloe. “Follow me,” she calls over her shoulder.

The rest of the day is spent pedaling quickly through quiet neighbourhood streets and Beca really wishing she had spent more time stretching before hopping on her bike that morning.

* * *

This is possibly the first weekend in a year that Chloe has had plans _both_ days. While her parents definitely notice, they also don’t push for too many details, but Chloe sees the knowing glance they share as she excuses herself from the dinner table after another day of exploring with Beca. If nothing else, she is glad that the new spike in her social activity—even if it is for a school project—is keeping them happy.

Like most Sunday evenings, Chloe departs to her bedroom early. She starts up her laptop to add any finishing touches to any homework she may have missed, but the first thing to catch her eye is the red notification bubble attached to the iMessage application.

**Beca  
** _But moving on from him is impossible  
_ _When I still see it all in my head  
_ _In burning RED_

For just a moment, Chloe stares at her screen in questioning.

**Chloe  
** _you know taylor swift?_

It really is not the most burning question, all things considered.

**Beca  
** _lol no  
_ _i’m still trying to guess your middle name and google told me that’s a lyric_

Despite the look of questioning still displayed across her face, Chloe cannot help her lazy grin. It’s still strange to her, how easy it is with Beca. Strange, but not unwelcome.

**Chloe  
** _say my name, say my name_

**Beca  
** _you know david guetta? 😜_

**Chloe  
** _i meant destiny’s child_

**Beca  
** _i knew you weren’t cool enough for david guetta_

**Chloe  
** _have i been living under a rock? of course i know david guetta_

**Beca  
** _you shoot me down, but i won’t fall_

**Chloe  
** _i am titanium_

**Beca  
** _wow, guess you really do know david guetta_

Although Chloe’s smile is still there, it is admittedly more of a sad one now. Of course she knows the song; how would she forget something she used to belt out during two-person dance parties with her sister on Friday nights?

Not that she’ll tell Beca that part, of course.

Unsure of how long this is supposed to go on for, Chloe readies herself with a new lyric. However, she doesn’t get the chance to type it, not before a small tap sounds from the window behind her. It startles her at first, though the idea that she is probably just hearing things flashes through her mind.

Until another tap sounds, anyway.

With a certain level of intrigue and mild discomfort, Chloe rises cautiously from her chair, another soft _tap_ greeting her as she approaches.

A feeling of disbelief washes over her momentarily as she stares downward to the increasingly familiar sight of Beca Mitchell, this time standing on her front lawn and preparing to toss another pebble upwards.

Chloe is about to open the window and ask her what the hell she is doing when Beca begins to motion her outside, and it seems that no amount of biting her lip is going to help to contain the amused grin that appears in response.

This time, Chloe does nothing to stifle it.

“What are you _doing_?” Chloe asks in something of a loud whisper as she appears at the front door, closing it quietly behind her. Her amusement is still there, but now conveyed through her tone.

It’s strange really, if it was anybody else, Chloe would probably be at least mildly annoyed. But because it’s Beca, she can’t help but find it kind of adorable, and wonders why she is so ready to think so.

“Just out walking,” Beca shrugs in response, hands slipping into the large front pocket of her sweater. “You wanna walk with me?”

* * *

“This is where all the cool kids hang out,” Beca says before she has a chance to be embarrassed about it, considering she’s literally talking to one of them.

“I’m sure it is,” Chloe replies dryly, but she follows Beca without hesitation as they near a small alleyway. “Are you planning on disposing of my body somewhere?”

Beca smirks. “You’ll never know.” Then, more seriously, “no, I promise that this is pretty cool and worth your time.”

The alleyway exits into a small opening - an abandoned parking lot that never found a new use after all the construction and modernization in the area. Living so close to Atlanta’s city center meant that the sprawl of urban life found its way in an outwards spiral more and more, encroaching on suburban life. That just meant that Beca had found many unique hiding spots over the years, often a remarkable representation of communities rising up against capitalism.

Or something like that at least, Beca barely had time to think about what she chose to wear in the morning.

The wall behind the warehouse reveals a spread of graffiti with no actual consistency. It is a wall on which people have chosen to record the memory of their existence on Earth - at least as much as such an existence matters in Georgia at the end of March.

It is evident that Chloe has never seen this wall before. One of the downfalls of _not_ growing up in Georgia, Beca muses. Chloe begins to walk towards it, eyes alight in wonder. Beca follows quickly, wanting to see every last expression on Chloe’s face.

“What is this?” Chloe asks, sounding more amazed than ever as she marvels over the various lines of art, both intricate and messy, across the wall. Her eyes light up upon seeing a segmented-off section titled, in stark block letters, _I WAS HERE_. What follows the title is a mess of people’s names and more memories, Beca supposes.

“I think some people use art as a way to escape,” Beca suggests, watching Chloe carefully. _Like you and me._ She does not voice it aloud, but she wonders if Chloe is thinking the same. The memory of Chloe’s notebook filled with drawings does not escape Beca’s thoughts. She pulls the thick slab of chalk she had snagged from Dani’s desk drawer from her pocket. “Here, watch me,” she says. “I want to write something.”

It feels like a turning point - one of those crossroads moments Beca has heard about but never entirely experienced. She fully intends to just write Chloe’s name, but she chickens out at the last moment and just writes a large, ugly _C_ before she steps away and wonders if that had been too bold. Too forward. Too much for their second day working on this homework assignment.

(And that’s really all it is. A homework assignment meant to get them a good, final grade and nothing more. Nothing meant to be a tie that binds forever. Nothing like that.)

It surprises her more when Chloe takes the chalk from her, fingers grazing Beca’s skin ever so slightly as she moves to finish her name on the wall.

Except she doesn’t.

Beca looks up to see Chloe has written stark _B_ right next to Beca’s _C_.

Chloe glances at Beca, reading her expression carefully.

“For _Chloe Beale_?” Beca asks.

For a long moment, Chloe gazes at her. Beca blinks, nervous suddenly. Gently, Chloe presses the chalk back into Beca’s hand. “If you say so.” Then, to break the sudden tension between them, “This place is nice. Thank you, Beca.”

Mouth suddenly as dry as the piece of chalk in her hand, Beca realizes she should’ve thought ahead, maybe brought a bottle of water or something.

“Just another wonder of Georgia,” Beca shrugs in an attempt at nonchalance.

With trash littered around, it is more a scrap heap than a _wonder_ , but Chloe does not seem to be put off. She makes her way toward a couple of abandoned tires, carefully dusting one off with her fingers, before perching down as comfortably as one can on an old, abandoned tire. “Have you always lived here?” Chloe asks, motioning for Beca to join her. “In Georgia.”

Beca simply nods her head in response, plopping down onto the tire beside Chloe’s. “Born and raised.”

“What do your parents do?”

At that, the mention of her parents, Beca’s lips purse slightly. She is not looking at Chloe, and instead has taken to picking at a piece of rubber on the tire beneath her.

“Oh, I—” Chloe begins, realizing she has perhaps overstepped. “I’m sorry.”

Quickly, Beca shakes her head. No, her parents may not be her favorite subject, but Chloe doesn’t know that. She doesn’t want Chloe to feel like she has done anything wrong, because she hasn’t. “No, it’s fine,” Beca promises, bringing her gaze up toward Chloe. “I mean, they’re not dead or anything. Just...you know, not really around.”

“You don’t live with them?” Chloe asks curiously. Her voice is now a little softer than anything Beca is used to.

Normally, this is a topic that has her closing up, recoiling into her shell, but it is easy to talk to Chloe, that is only becoming more and more apparent by the day. “I live with my sister. My dad’s a professor at Barden so he and his wife live close to campus, and my mom lives out in Savannah, so I don’t really see her.”

Sparing the details, Beca’s backstory really does not sound too tragic. Chloe doesn’t look at her with any kind of sympathy, anyway. There is actually something somewhat understanding about the way she slowly nods her head. “You and your sister are close?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s my best friend,” Beca nods, gaze having lowered to the same piece of rubber she has been continually picking at. Though, realization hits her quickly, the fact that she should not be rubbing she and Dani’s relationship in Chloe’s face, all things considered. “Uh…”

“It’s okay,” Chloe assures softly. Beca glances cautiously upward to see a small if not somewhat sad smile displayed across Chloe’s lips. “My sister was my best friend too.”

Beca knows how it feels, to have a tragedy define you. So far, she has not brought up Chloe’s sister, nor their fateful accident last summer. However, there is a specific look in Chloe’s eyes now, one that tells Beca that perhaps she wants to talk. In fact, it’s almost like she _needs_ to.

“Tell me about her,” Beca urges gently, her own voice now a smaller volume than she really recognizes.

For a second or two, it is almost as if Chloe disappears into her own world. Beca wonders if she should backtrack, maybe change the subject.

But, it does not take too long for a small smile to break through Chloe’s blank expression.

“She was funny,” Chloe begins. Beca can see from the expression on her face, the one Beca is studying more deeply than she maybe should be, that Chloe has been transported someplace else. She chooses not to draw her back. “Way funnier than me. Really smart too. She loved animals, she wanted to be a vet.”

Chloe trails off momentarily, though Beca responds with a gentle, reassuring nod of her head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Chloe continues. “I remember, even when we were little, she used to talk about how she was gonna be a vet someday. We’d sit at the kitchen table painting pictures, you know, just little kid stuff. Amber was never very good at it, the whole art thing, but she knew how much I liked to draw and to paint and stuff, so she’d pretend like she did too. Anyway, I’d draw flowers or pictures of my parents or something, and Amber would always draw an animal.” While it is small and very faint, there is no mistaking the soft chuckle to fall from Chloe’s lips at the distinct memory. “They never looked like whatever animal they were supposed to be. But I guess she tried.”

It is not the right time, not while Chloe is venturing so deeply into something so personal to her, but Beca cannot help the way she finds herself so captivated, so pulled in by everything that is Chloe Beale. She shouldn’t be studying the way her eyes shine beneath the soft glow of the moonlight above them, nor the way her loose curls frame her pale face so perfectly. Beca is listening, she’s actively listening, but she’s looking too. Really looking, really _seeing_.

“You must really miss her, huh?” Beca whispers, a question she realizes right away is stupid and unhelpful. Chloe, however, doesn’t seem to judge her for it. Why would she? Beca already knows that Chloe is not that type of person. Already, she knows Chloe is better than most.

“Yeah, I do,” Chloe nods in response. “You know, it’s only been a year, and nobody really talks about her anymore.”

Beca’s head tilts in reaction, silently prompting Chloe to go on.

“I mean, nobody ever asks about her. I don’t think they dare to.” For the first time in the last little while, Chloe’s gaze shifts to lock with Beca’s. The contact is a little intense, and if it was anybody else, it would make Beca feel uncomfortable. Because it’s Chloe though, it doesn’t.

“Thank you, Beca,” Chloe whispers, her gentle smile a genuine one. “For asking.”

As the silence expands between them, Beca notes that it does feel like Amber is there with them. At least for a moment.

She hopes it brings Chloe some comfort.

* * *

As the evening creeps into night, perhaps verging too close for them to really be out on a Sunday night, Beca realizes she and Chloe have hung out for two entire days.

She voices the thought, but it comes out something like this: “We’re basically friends now,” Beca declares, keeping her eyes trained on the wall of graffiti in front of her for a few seconds longer before glancing at Chloe to catch her expression.

Chloe blinks at her owlishly before she finally breaks into a smile - a real and genuine smile - that makes Beca smile back in return. It is a positive sign. Even better, when Chloe takes a deep breath and says, “I guess we are, Beca Mitchell.”

Those six words ought not to have such an effect on Beca, but they feel like all the best songs Beca has ever heard, rolled into the simplicity of Chloe’s agreement.

Fleetingly, Beca lets some of the extra, lingering feelings float away before she stands and holds her hands out for Chloe. Tentatively, Chloe places her hands in Beca’s and together, they stand.

“What?” Chloe asks when Beca looks at her expectantly.

Beca holds up her chalk. “I just thought of something else we should add.”

Chloe raises her eyebrow, intrigued. “What?”

Beca doesn’t respond. Instead, she walks towards the wall and gestures for Chloe to follow her. When they finally find themselves standing directly in front of their previously written initials. Beca writes _AD_ in large blocks just slightly above their initials.

“Ad?” Chloe asks.

“A and D,” Beca corrects.

“After death?” Chloe asks, increasingly confused.

Beca nearly chokes on her next breath before she ends up laughing and grabbing Chloe’s arm as if pulling her closer to the wall will help her anymore. “ _No_ ,” Beca says slowly. “Amber and Dani. Your sister and mine,” she murmurs, feeling shy now that she’s voiced her thoughts aloud.

Chloe says nothing for a few beats. Beca turns to her hesitantly, watching her expression carefully.

“I’d like to think that they were here too,” Beca says after the silence stretches for too long.

Chloe once again says nothing, but she does sniffle once and before Beca can swiftly apologize, Chloe’s face nears her own and she presses a soft, lingering kiss to Beca’s cheek.

“Thank you,” Chloe whispers, breath warm against Beca’s cheek.

* * *

There is something of an open-door policy in Beca and Dani’s home. So, despite the fact that Beca has been home only ten minutes or so by now, it does not surprise her when she hears a soft knock on her bedroom door, followed by it opening immediately after—albeit slowly in the interest of privacy—to the sight of her sister.

“Been out with Chloe?” Dani asks from her position newly propped against the doorframe. Her arms are folded casually across her middle, and there is no teasing nor judgment behind her tone, not like their last brief conversation surrounding Chloe anyway.

Beca simply glares, but chooses to neither confirm nor deny.

“You know,” Dani continues, pushing herself upright to make her way further into the room. “Amber Beale’s sister is named Chloe.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” Dani nods, sitting herself down on the edge of Beca’s mattress. “Is she the Chloe you’ve been hanging out with?”

“Does it matter?” Beca questions in a somewhat defensive tone.

Dani is used to her sister, used to her easily throwing up her guard. So, she quietly chuckles in response, head shaking softly. “No. I just want to make sure you’re being careful, that’s all.”

Beca arches a brow. “Careful... are you seriously having a sex talk with me right now?”

At that, Dani laughs a little louder, eyes rolling playfully. “No. I just meant...” She shuffles a fraction closer, hand reaching out to settle delicately against Beca’s arm. Beca glances toward it momentarily, before focusing on her sister’s face again. “Look, I know the Beales have been through a lot. Chloe has been through a lot. But so have you, Bec.”

While Beca doesn’t have a response, she stares at her sister, head eventually nodding slowly in understanding. She is still neither confirming nor denying anything, but it is clear to them both that she doesn’t have to.

Dani offers her a smile, one that shows how much she genuinely does care. “Just make sure you’re taking care of you too, okay?” She pauses, arm outstretching toward the slab of chalk sitting on Beca’s desk. “And don’t take my things.”


	6. need the sound of your sweet melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe’s next destination might be a bit out of the reach of their bikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for references to car accidents and bullying.
> 
> Chapter title from Lusaint's "Lullaby".

Beca has wondered, given the fact that she has spent the last two days with Chloe Beale, whether things are supposed to change for them now as far as school is concerned. Like they’d established just last night, they are kind of friends now, right? Still, Beca does feel a little out of her depth as she considers approaching Chloe’s locker, despite the fact that it is only six doors away from her own.

She is reminded quickly, of course, as she prepares herself to make the short walk down the hallway, of her own place at the bottom of the social pyramid, the second she sees Aubrey Posen sidle up beside Chloe. Instantly, Beca takes a short step back, suddenly feeling out of place.

“Chloe, hi!” Aubrey greets a little too excitedly, and Beca does not _mean_ to listen into their conversation, but the hallway is relatively quiet in comparison to usual, so it’s almost like she just can’t help it. “Did you have a nice weekend?” Aubrey continues.

Suddenly, Beca finds that she is actually interested in hearing Chloe’s response.

Chloe murmurs a greeting in return, something that sounds like “hello” before she clears her throat to respond to Aubrey entirely. It takes everything in Beca not to turn around and stare at them head-on, but she continues to listen intently. “I did,” Chloe continues, not a trace of insincerity or falsehood in her voice. “Maybe I’d go as far as to say I had fun.”

It thrills Beca a little, knowing that she succeeded in her miniature quest to bring Chloe some fun and joy over the weekend.

And of course, that they’ve made good headway on their assignment. Mostly that.

Though Chloe is sincere, it sounds like that information is startling to Aubrey because she immediately questions, “Fun?” which is understandable to Beca considering Aubrey Posen likely has no understanding of the concept.

Chloe pauses, then, “I started that geography project.”

It probably isn’t the right thing to say because there is an even longer silence before Aubrey asks, “that was fun?”

Beca would laugh aloud if she wouldn’t look totally psychotic laughing into her own locker, but the brief smile is wiped off her face when Chloe fumbles with something in her locker and says, “I just, um, hung out with my parents.”

“Oh,” Aubrey drawls out slowly. “Right! With their friends.”

Beca assumes Chloe’s expression must mirror her own because of the bewilderment welling up inside her, but Chloe speaks again, this time on a sigh. “Yeah, visiting their friends.”

It ought to be expected at this point, Beca supposes. She takes stock of the disappointment lingering inside her, but she is more keenly aware of her own surprise. Surprise that Chloe would lie about their weekend in its entirety.

She feels sad, mostly. But, again, it is just another reminder of her low standing on the social chain.

“You mentioned the geography project?” Aubrey prompts. Beca’s ears prick up at that, wondering how Chloe is going to explain her way around it. It seems she doesn’t have to though, not as Aubrey continues before Chloe even gets the chance to speak. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

Chloe has no verbal response, and instead just looks at Aubrey, waiting for her to go on.

Beca notices a slight shift in Aubrey’s stance, almost as if there is some level of nervousness within her.

“Yeah,” Aubrey nods. “Since you’re not doing the project, I asked Chicago to be my partner. I hope that’s not too weird… Is it?”

 _Yes, it is weird_ , Beca thinks, allowing the momentary disdain she has for Chicago to wash over her. _He’s weird and you’re weird, Posen._

Still, Beca cannot decide whether her eavesdropping had been a good idea or not, mostly because she is now filled with confusion. Not doing the project? She cranes her neck slightly, wanting more information, and almost forgetting just how visible she probably is to passersby.

Of course, she is reminded of her sheer _invisibility_ the moment a nameless student walks directly into her in passing. She straightens herself with a scowl—not that the student sees it anyway—just in time to hear Chloe close her locker, followed by, “That’s fine.”

Beca really shouldn’t be reading too much into it, but it does sound like Chloe genuinely believes that it’s _fine_ —fine that her best friend is working with her on-and-off fling. Or so Beca has heard.

Even more shocking, “I’m actually, um, working with Beca.”

 _Now_ , Beca is smiling. At least, until Aubrey apparently has to open her mouth again. “Who’s Beca?”

“She’s in our class.”

A beat. “ _Rebecca_ Mitchell?”

Beca would, once again, laugh aloud if she weren’t intent on keeping her cover of invisibility. Chloe, however, laughs which is good enough for her. “ _Yes_ ,” Chloe emphasizes. “Beca. She goes by Beca. She’s been in school with us forever.”

“No,” Aubrey says immediately. “Chloe, she’s been in school with _me_ forever. You don’t know her. You know she’s like...totally dangerous, right?”

“Aubrey, come on.”

“It’s all in her ear monstrosities.”

“My what?” Beca mutters to herself.

“Her _what_?”

“Her—her piercings! In her ears!”

Now, Beca had always known Aubrey was slightly deranged, but she never expected it to be that bad.

“And,” Aubrey continues. “You have to have heard stuff about her. Like how she’s always alone. Listening to music. Writing on those sticky pads of hers. God knows what she’s writing. Probably stuff about all of us. She’s just an unknown variable, Chloe.”

To Beca, the most laughable part is that Aubrey considers herself important enough for Beca to care to write about. She is interested to hear Chloe’s response though, but a quick peek at Chloe’s expression shows her that Chloe is just as confused as Beca feels.

“Wait…” Aubrey pauses, eyes narrowing in on Chloe. “I thought you said you weren’t doing the project? Your parents were going to talk to Mr. Harris and get you out of it, weren’t they?” Apparently, her outrage toward the very idea of Chloe working with Beca seems to overpower whatever her train of thought may have been, because Aubrey seems to wave off the thought. “Chloe, it’s not too late to switch partners. I’m sure Mr. Harris would let the three of us work together. You, me and Chicago.”

Beca isn’t sure, but she _thinks_ she notices a slight upturn at the corner of Chloe’s lips. She _knows_ she sees her shake her head.

“It’s fine,” Chloe says in a lighter tone than before, sincerity coating her words. “You and Chicago can work together, and I’m going to stick with Beca. We already started, so,” she trails off with a brief shrug, offering Aubrey a genuine smile before turning with evident intent to depart. “Really, it’s fine.”

Aubrey being Aubrey obviously cannot let it go without a parting shot and an indignant sniff, her voice following Chloe down the hallway. “I just hope she takes out her ear monstrosities before graduation.”

God, Beca hates her.

Still, she walks away from her locker with a smile.

* * *

Beca finds herself at the lockers again, this time just before lunch. This time by Chloe’s locker.

As she sees Chloe approach, she takes a breath and smiles at Chloe’s little half-wave.

“Hi,” Chloe greets. “How’s your day going?”

The pleasantries, while not entirely out of character, kind of throw Beca off. She realizes it is likely because this is a foreign concept to her, casually conversing with Chloe Beale in the school hallways.

Regardless, Beca shrugs her shoulder gently. “Fine.” A beat. “Hey, so listen—”

She does not get to finish her thought, not before a large hand sails directly between her and Chloe. Chicago’s palm lands with obvious intent against the locker door. It startles Chloe some, but Beca just stares at the back of his obnoxiously large head with a scowl, one that meets his gaze as Chicago glances over his shoulder.

“Don’t you have some sticky notes to play with or something, freak?”

By this point, Beca cannot see Chloe’s expression, not with the wall that is Chicago Walp between them. She does think she hears something that sounds like a slight gasp, but Chicago has focused his attention back on Chloe. As much as Beca would like to push her way forward, she realizes there is really no point, and instead chews on the inside of her cheek, defeatedly backing away. She wants to say something akin to goodbye to Chloe, but she finds that the words simply do not form.

Instead, she heaves a sigh just as she overhears Chicago relaying what Aubrey must have told him—that Chloe had agreed to partner up with the resident basketcase—and how concerned he was for Chloe’s wellbeing.

Almost like a repeat of earlier, only this time with a much more annoying buffer between them, Beca finds herself standing by her own locker, evidently not a major part of Chloe Beale’s world.

Their entire weekend together feels like nothing more than a dream.

* * *

**Chloe  
** _Beca?  
_ _Are you still at school?_

Beca, who is decidedly not at school anymore, opts to simply turn up her music louder as she focuses on making her bedroom as dark as possible. From black-out curtains to turning off her light, she finally feels some tension leave her body when she settles back in front of her computer.

Though her music is loud, she barely hears it over the rushing in her ears.

**Chloe  
** _What did you want to talk about?_

* * *

**Chloe  
** _Beca?  
_ _Where did you go?  
_ _Well when you’re free, just message me or something_

When Beca blinks awake, she has no recollection of having fallen asleep, just that she had been completely immersed in a new mash-up, blinded by her computer and deafened by her headphones.

Though a quick glance at her computer tells her that most of what she just made is barely usable—barely palatable to anybody with working ears. The mess of wavelengths across each level makes her nauseous momentarily before she quickly closes her laptop.

Chloe’s messages are hours apart, though Beca further has no recollection of receiving those messages. Typically she wouldn’t be concerned with having lost track of time—very literally losing time—but she is concerned that Chloe appears to be worried about her. A first, considering her moments of self-isolation historically only involved herself.

While some things hadn’t changed, Beca supposes that there were things that were different now.

To her dismay, she notes that her phone is almost dead, on its last dredges of battery power. Though she could take some time to respond to Chloe, an idea begins to form in her mind. A quick glance at her watch tells her that it is fairly early—far too early to go to school—but early enough that she might just be able to catch Chloe if she dares.

Suddenly more refreshed than before, Beca dashes to get ready.

She marvels at her own luck that Dani appears to be out of the house _and_ that she appears to have left her car for Beca to use—though that permission is debatable, Beca is one to ask for forgiveness later rather than to ask for permission. With a future apology in mind, Beca quickly tosses her horribly green bicycle into the trunk with no mind for the mess she makes. She’ll clean it later.

First, Chloe’s house. She’ll charge her phone on the way.

* * *

Beca isn’t proud of it, but she’s certain Chloe’s quiet, all-American street has never seen the likes of her sister’s car before. She’s sure the muffler is dragging along the ground every few miles and the doors creak obnoxiously.

Also, the engine sputters whenever Beca draws to a full stop and makes dangerous sounds. But, as advertised, the sedan is one of America’s safest cars, so Beca will rely on that comforting fact.

All the noise does its job, however, at rousing Chloe from her home. Her face appears immediately at the living room window, peering accusingly at Beca from behind the glass. Beca waves as enthusiastically as she can before she realizes that Chloe likely can’t see her properly from the car. It is upon stepping out of her car that she realizes Chloe is eyeing the car with a small degree of discomfort, visible even from behind the window panes of her house.

Intent on somehow assuring Chloe that they will not be driving anywhere, Beca hurries around to the trunk to retrieve her bicycle. Then, Chloe has appeared at the front door, blinking away the sleep from her eyes, and shooting Beca a look that asks her _what the hell are you doing?_

“Do you know what time it is?” Chloe asks, her tone a little annoyed. Then again, Beca can understand it. She _does_ know what time it is, after all.

“Time for our third location,” Beca shrugs in response, beginning to wheel her bike toward Chloe’s driveway. “It’s pretty far away, I figured we should leave early. You wanna take the day off school?”

Quickly, Chloe steps out onto the porch, almost cautiously closing the door behind her, likely to keep her parents in the dark. “Are you serious?” Chloe hisses. Her tone definitely does not match the soft matching pink pajama set she is currently wearing—a foreign concept to Beca, who religiously sleeps in old band tees.

Beca gives another small shrug of her shoulder. “I was, but we don’t have to.”

For a short moment, Chloe eyes her curiously, arms folded almost protectively across her middle. “Where would we be going instead?”

“That,” Beca begins, climbing onto her bike readily, “I can’t tell you. I can tell you it’s near Little Mulberry Park, so we really should get going.”

Just like before, Chloe continues to stare, and Beca finds that she cannot read her expression. Obviously, she is not going to force Chloe into anything, and instead waits patiently for a response.

When it doesn’t come, Beca finds herself staring at a now closed door, her expression likely mirroring Chloe’s.

How long Beca is supposed to wait, she doesn’t know. Fortunately, before she has the chance to feel _too_ uncomfortable, she hears the sound of the front door opening, and is this time greeted by the sight of Chloe in a pair of jeans and a shirt. She is in the middle of tying her hair up as she walks, though Beca notices a distinct lack of a helmet.

“Where’s your bike?” Beca questions, already positioned on her own.

“Little Mulberry Park?” Chloe repeats, brow arching in the process. “That would take us three hours to get to.”

“Well,” Beca shrugs, “Two if we speed.”

“Please, you could barely keep up last time.”

“I’m becoming pro at this, Chloe R Beale,” Beca scoffs.

In response, Chloe simply rolls her eyes. Beca takes note of the way her gaze drifts past her and toward the car though. “How pro are you behind the wheel?”

Beca, unsure of whether or not she really follows, tilts her head.

“I asked how you are at driving.”

Beca glances over her shoulder and toward the car, bringing her sight back over to Chloe soon after. “I have never had so much as a speeding ticket.”

At that, Chloe continues to stare, almost like she is trying to figure out her next move. Eventually, she nods her head, and Beca watches as Chloe makes her way around the vehicle and toward the passenger side door.

“What are you doing?” Beca asks curiously.

“Put your bike away,” Chloe instructs, tugging open the door. “It’ll only take us an hour if we drive.”

* * *

Chloe’s brief bravado had been surprising to Beca. She had no intention of pressuring Chloe into getting into the car—hadn’t been expecting it in all honesty. She just wanted to transport her bicycle to Chloe’s house without the hassle of riding it and she had been absolutely ready to bike three—no, _two_ —hours to their destination.

It had been impulsive, Beca understood that.

She just hadn’t expected Chloe Beale to match that same impulse.

Chloe is remarkably silent and still throughout the drive. Beca’s phone is telling her that it’ll be about an hour, based on the cursory glance she spares it.

“I’ll navigate,” Chloe finally says, pulling Beca’s phone from the mount and opening her Maps application. “Eyes on the road,” she murmurs. Her voice does not waver as she says it, but Beca detects the way Chloe’s voice drops slightly at the end.

For a few miles, they are quiet. The air in the car, though not quite stale, is very still. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, breaking the stillness.

“Music?” Beca suggests, noting that Chloe’s free hand has begun to tap against her thigh incessantly. The lack of rhythm in that alone sets off all of Beca’s senses.

“If you’ve got anything good,” Chloe manages to reply, a hint of their previous banter coming back to the fore.

Deciding that Chloe probably deserves to occasionally win in their verbal sparring—just this once at least—Beca pushes her audio button, grateful that Dani didn’t have anything embarrassing playing. She’d probably never hear the end of it.

“You can also connect my phone or your phone to the car,” Beca suggests over the sound of radio advertisements.

Chloe’s tapping stops as she is clearly receptive to the idea and immediately pulls up one of Beca’s random playlists on Spotify. “Let’s see what music you have,” Chloe murmurs, pressing shuffle.

Beca is rarely embarrassed by her own music so she meets Chloe’s challenge head-on with a quick smirk in her direction.

As music fills the car, Beca feels herself relax. A glance in Chloe’s direction indicates that she is immersed in the music. Her nervous tapping has slowed to a stop, her hand resting peacefully against her leg.

Beca kind of wants to hold Chloe’s hand.

She mulls over that thought for the next mile or so, before Chloe hums to herself and shuffles to the next song. In Beca’s focus on the road, she barely notices the song that comes on; she barely registers the rhythmic opening notes to “Titanium”, nor its significance to their prior text conversation. It is not until she realizes that Chloe’s breathing has become rather uneven that she chances a glance over and sees that Chloe’s previously relaxed hand has now clenched into a tight fist—so tight that the edges of her knuckles appear paler from the tension.

“Chloe?” she asks, not trusting herself to speak at the moment. A part of her wants to reach over and fully grab Chloe’s hand, but the other part of her knows to keep both her hands on the steering wheel. “Um, say something,” Beca requests. “Literally anything.”

“Pull over,” Chloe requests through something that sounds like a choke. Beca, of course, has already begun looking for the nearest place to stop.

Seeing no upcoming exits, but entirely aware of the panic attack Chloe is verging on in the seat beside her, Beca pulls onto the shoulder, carefully moving the car into park. Not knowing exactly what she should do, but that she has to do _something_ , Beca quickly unclips her seatbelt, turning her body to better face Chloe.

“Hey,” Beca begins in the most soothing voice she can muster, watching the way Chloe seems to take sharp, frantic breaths. Hesitating briefly, she reaches out a hand to settle gently against Chloe’s shoulder, fingers curling around the soft fabric of her shirt. “You’re okay.”

Decidedly, Chloe is very much _not_ okay, but Beca is unsure of what else to do, how else to help. So, she just sits, her fingertips gently massaging against Chloe’s shoulder, until she notes the way Chloe turns her face toward her. Tears gloss Chloe’s pale cheeks, and Beca notices, perhaps selfishly, that her eyes shine somehow more brightly behind the salty liquid welling up behind her lids.

Normally, Beca shies away from too much eye contact. Right now, with Chloe, it is somehow the easiest thing ever. She maintains her concerned stare, tongue licking over her dry lips, as she cautiously moves her hand upward to comfortingly cradle Chloe’s cheek. Beca wonders if she is overstepping, but Chloe does nothing to shrug her off.

The pad of her thumb brushing delicately over damp skin, Beca waits silently, just wanting Chloe to know that she is there. Even if she feels like she can’t do anything to help, she’s _there_.

It takes a moment or two, but eventually, Chloe’s frantic breathing begins to even out some, until she is gently nodding her head, with Beca forcing herself to pull her palm away from her cheek.

“Chloe, what happened?” Beca asks quietly into the silence that surrounds them, silence broken only by the shallow breaths Chloe is still attempting to properly even out.

“It...the song,” is what Chloe manages to say before she is breathless once more.

For a moment, all Beca can think about is that Chloe _really_ hates “Titanium” but the more rational part of her knows it has to be more—it has to be so much more than just a dumb song from the early 2010s.

She’s sure a joke wouldn’t fare well at the moment, so she lets Chloe take her time. Beca’s hand twitches a few times for how much she longs to reach up and tuck an errant curl away from Chloe’s face, but she sees that Chloe is beginning to compose herself now that the car is stopped and the music is off.

“My sister loved driving,” Chloe begins. Her voice wavers, but she glances at Beca with something that resembles gratitude. “And, um, I guess because she was older...only by a year, but still. I guess she would just drive me places. And that night—” Chloe’s voice cuts off again and she takes another shaky breath. “We used to sing in the car together, you know?” Chloe asks, smiling at Beca. There is no joy in her smile, just sheer sadness. The tears in Chloe’s eyes have no reason to look that pretty while Chloe is so miserable.

“Titanium?” Beca asks to clarify.

“Yeah,” Chloe says quietly. “I don’t know, it always felt like such a perfect song to sing in the car. No matter what the mood was. If she was mad at me for getting into makeup. If I was mad at her for being late to pick me up. Whenever that song came on, it was just…”

Beca understands. She fully understands what it means to identify so fully with a piece of music even if the reasons weren’t apparent or obvious right off the bat.

It was something that brought people together.

“It just reminded me of that night and how she and I just…” Chloe licks her lips before swiping hastily at the tears that had begun to make their way down her cheeks again. “I’ll never get to sing it with her again.”

“I’m sorry,” Beca whispers, because it’s all she can do. That and finally reaching out to grab Chloe’s hand when she notices that Chloe’s anxious fidgeting has started again. “I’m sorry.” Chloe’s hand is warm beneath her own.

“That’s what I want to think about when I think of her, you know?” Chloe continues. Beca takes note of the fact that she does not pull her hand out from beneath Beca’s. “Us just driving around, singing together. But that’s not it.” Her head shakes softly, and Beca can tell that Chloe is being transported someplace else again. Again, she chooses not to draw her back. “When I think of sitting in the car with Amber, I don’t think about us singing some goofy song lyrics together. All I can think about is how I couldn’t hear anything—not even the sound of the metal crashing, not even the sound of my own voice calling her name. I just knew that I couldn’t hear her anymore.”

“Chloe…”

“And, um,” Chloe interrupts, looking at Beca with urgency. “I guess I’m just worried people will forget about her of course. But more than that, I can’t handle the thought of forgetting what her voice sounds like even though it—” a sob escapes her. “—it feels like I will, more and more everyday.”

Beca tightens her grip on Chloe’s hand, wishing she could take away some of the pain—take away some of the hurt and loneliness. Beneath her palm, Chloe’s fist relaxes.

“You’re not going to forget her,” Beca offers in a gentle voice. Through watery eyes, Chloe stares, almost as if she wants to question her, ask her _how_ she could possibly know. Beca softly shakes her head though, before continuing. “You don’t love someone that much and then just forget them.”

Chloe’s eyes fixate on Beca’s for an incredibly long moment. Beca, for her part, does her best to focus on Chloe as well, battling the urge to look away from the intense blue of Chloe’s eyes. The warmth that fills Beca then is so visceral that she nearly recoils, but slowly, very slowly, Chloe’s hand turns over beneath her own as she tangles their fingers together.

Beca’s own words echo back at her in her mind as Chloe offers a very small, tearful smile. With miles to go to their destination, Beca wonders if Chloe feels the same—wonders if Chloe feels equally at peace with exactly where they are at that moment.

Whether she does or not, she doesn’t say so. But, she also doesn’t need to, not with the way Beca feels Chloe’s hand squeezing gently onto her own, before she whispers a soft, sincere, “Thank you, Beca.”


	7. won't you take me there? (floating in the air)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe’s new favorite metaphor for life is a rollercoaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homemade rollercoaster concept borrowed directly from the movie as well as other references. Chapter title from “Waking Up” by Mr. Little Jeans.

The haze from their shared moment of intimacy has barely dissipated before Beca finds herself starting up the car again. She can’t quite shake the blush from her cheeks and she notes—a quick glance—that Chloe is equally flustered, eyes still bright and filled with lingering tears. Hastily, Beca opens the glove compartment and points at the tissue box without saying another word.

“We can just turn around,” Beca murmurs, feeling warm and emotional. She notes that the flush on her own face has little to do with embarrassment and more to do with how shy she feels suddenly around Chloe. “Like we totally don’t have to do this if you’re not up to it. It was kind of a dumb idea anyway.”

Chloe laughs, a watery but sincere sound, and pushes her used tissues into her pockets. “I don’t even know where we’re going,” she admits.

 _Right_. Beca hadn’t explicitly told her. “It’s near the park,” she explains hastily. “And I read about it a few years ago. I recently looked it up again and it’s still a thing. I can tell you,” Beca concedes. “But I think it’d be better as a surprise.”

* * *

Chloe sighs, but she does not sound entirely displeased. “I like surprises,” she says in a small voice.

Beca’s grip around the steering wheel loosens, relieving the tension she didn’t even realize she had been holding. “Then off we go. Want to be DJ again?”

Chloe scoffs, but she picks up Beca’s phone once more. “Nerd,” she mumbles.

Beca smiles.

Despite the fact that, for the most part, Beca feels incredibly comfortable in Chloe’s presence, she cannot help but spend the rest of their journey at least slightly on edge. Mostly, she just wants to make sure Chloe is okay, so a sense of relief washes over her once they finally reach their destination.

As they climb from the car though, a new wave of panic begins to set in. It is not like Beca owns this place, nor has any affiliation with it whatsoever, but she finds that she is worried about whether Chloe will actually like it or not. For some reason, she just wants to impress her.

Then again, Chloe has not seemed disappointed by any of their previous locations, so Beca can only hope she will luck out with this one too. She is relieved when she sees an elderly woman sitting on the porch, looking every bit like the farmer Beca had envisioned when she had called ahead that morning. Straw hat, loose jeans, and based on their conversation, southern drawl.

“There she is!” Beca exclaims excitedly before Chloe can say anything else.

“I don’t know how many movies you’ve watched, but this is usually how horror movies start, Beca,” Chloe says with an odd mixture of humor and uncertainty in her voice.

Ignoring that, Beca reaches back to pull Chloe by her wrist. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Chloe Beale.”

“You finally made it!” the lady—Carol, Beca remembers—exclaims. “We were wondering if you had gotten lost along the way.”

Beca smiles. “Just took a small pit stop. Where is it?” she asks excitedly.

Carol chuckles. “It’s out back, dear. Roger’s just making sure everything is running smoothly for the last time.”

“ _What’s_ running smoothly?” Chloe asks to no response from either Beca or Carol as they make their way around the humble little house.

Beca puts it down to apprehension, the fact that she feels familiar fingers slipping through the gaps between her own, and makes a point not to comment.

Beca supposes if there is something that she will miss about living in Georgia, it would be the excessive expanses of land available to people. It is clear that Carol and Roger enjoyed a decent career as farmers, but their new passion—the very reason that Beca and Chloe are there today—stands shiny and new in their backyard. Their backyard, which is just an almost-endless plain.

“Oh my God,” Chloe whispers, gripping Beca’s arm as well as tightening her hold on Beca’s hand. “You didn’t.”

Beca tries not to think about how sweaty her hand must be. “I did.”

Together, they gaze up at the surprisingly intimidating rollercoaster. A private rollercoaster right in the middle of Georgia, somehow still functioning and running despite the Six Flags right outside of Atlanta. There is something about _this_ rollercoaster that makes Beca’s heart pound in a way that she never experienced at her many forays into the giant amusement park.

(She wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that the lone seat is _literally_ a repurposed go-kart seat.)

Chloe seems to feel similarly as she finally steps away from Beca, dropping Beca’s hand finally as she walks closer to the miniature ride.

A man—Roger—steps out from behind a large console, right by the rollercoaster.

“Is this safe?” Chloe blurts before anybody else has a chance to say anything.

“Yes,” Beca says at the same time Carol and Roger do.

“But—” Chloe inhales. “ _Fine_. How did you even hear about this?”

“One,” Beca says lifting a finger. “Research. Second, a viral YouTube video.”

“But, _how_ —”

Roger claps his hands together, smiling at both of them with kind eyes. “Which one of you young ladies is going first?”

Chloe takes an immediate step back.

“You don’t want to try it?” Beca questions, glancing behind her toward Chloe. She notes how much Chloe’s eyes have widened, and cannot decide whether it is in terror or wonder.

Chloe shakes her head. “No, I do. It’s just…” She trails off.

Brow raising slightly, Beca bites back the amused grin threatening her lips. “You want me to go first?”

This time, Chloe shortly nods her head in response, and Beca finds that she is somehow filled with a sense of duty.

It is not until Roger is standing beside her and checking the safety straps one more time that Beca really thinks about what she is doing. Her own irrational fear of heights had seemed to pale in comparison to making Chloe feel safe. She keeps that thought in mind as Roger makes his way toward the control panel, and grips tightly onto the handlebar in front of her as the ride jerks into motion.

As per most rollercoasters, it begins with a slow trek to the top. When they had been standing at ground level, the climb had not looked that tall at all. Now, strapped into a repurposed go-kart, Beca feels like all she can see is endless sky and miles and miles ahead. Nothing but air and land and the faintest hint of a skyline.

It is exhilarating.

As she grips the handlebars in front of her, wondering why she even bothered doing this at all, she chances a glance to the ground where Chloe is smiling up at her—at least, it looks like she’s smiling. She could be grimacing for all Beca can tell. However, it is not Chloe’s expression that draws her in; it is the fact that Chloe is holding her little notebook, sketching away. It is with that in mind that Beca fully gives in to the sensation of falling as the rollercoaster finally makes its drop.

The rest of the ride is—thankfully—an entire blur to Beca. From the sounds of things, the three watching on are having a much better time than she is. Beca puts on a brave face though, which is much easier to do once the ride finally slows to a stop.

It is worth it, she realizes, if only for the sight of Chloe’s reaction. Though she is no longer holding her notebook, the way she claps her hands together, grin literally reaching her eyes, is all the reward Beca needs. It helps her to smile a more genuine smile too, in fact.

“That looked like so much fun!” Chloe beams excitedly. Evidently, she cannot sense the queasy feeling twisting inside of Beca’s stomach.

“It was definitely something,” Beca agrees in amusement, though she is grateful, as she climbs unsteadily from the seat, to be back on solid ground. Beca takes a large step back, motioning toward the go-kart seat. “Your turn.”

Apparently, Beca did a better job at hiding her fear than she realizes, because Chloe takes no further tempting. She climbs eagerly into the seat, with Beca standing off to the side, overcome with an odd sense of pride at the very sight of Chloe’s excitement.

The faint squeal that Chloe lets out as the ride sets off pulls a small laugh from Beca, and has her instantly reaching into her pocket to retrieve her pad of sticky notes.

 _Flight_ , Beca scrawls down quickly, before bringing her gaze back up to the sight of Chloe now ascending the hill. An additional _weightlessness_ is added, before Beca is stuffing the pad back into her pocket.

The smile that breaks out suddenly on Chloe’s face is visible even from Beca’s vantage point on the ground. Granted, the ride doesn’t go _that_ high, but Beca wishes that Chloe were closer to the ground so she’d be able to see that smile more clearly. For those few precious moments, Beca watches Chloe ascend, each tick from the turning gears like another thrum to her heart. As she watches, Chloe’s smile remains and she turns ever so slightly to smile directly down at Beca as best as she can. Their roles now reversed, Beca offers a hesitant wave up at Chloe, still marvelling at the bright intensity of Chloe’s smile.

Beca tries to attribute the swooping sensation in her stomach—the one that happens just as Chloe drops, kart and all—to the lingering, phantom sensation of falling, but she knows it is much more than that.

Even as Chloe slows to a stop right in front of her, looking no worse for wear, Beca’s heart continues to pound. Her own legs feel shaky like she had just been on the ride and not Chloe. It is with trembling hands that she reaches out to help Chloe out of the kart and as if sensing her momentary instability, Chloe throws her arms around her in a tight hug, anchoring Beca to the ground once more.

Beca doesn’t mean to hold on quite as tightly as she does in return, just like she doesn’t mean to take in the sweet scent of Chloe’s cherry blossom flavored shampoo as Chloe’s face buries momentarily into the crook of her shoulder. It just happens.

It just happens without any real thought or reason, like a lot of things in Beca’s life recently.

* * *

To Beca’s delight, Chloe suggests they ride a few more times. This is evidently pleasing to both Carol and Roger as well because they enthusiastically help Beca and Chloe in and out of the ride, accommodating their every need. Afterwards, Carol brings out a few cups of tea and together, they sit at a beautifully-finished picnic table.

“How long have you been doing this?” Chloe asks, gratefully accepting the steaming mug of tea.

“This rollercoaster thing?” Roger clarifies. At Chloe’s nod, he looks to his wife. “I’d say at least the past twenty years. It’s been hard to upkeep especially as the weather gets warmer and warmer, but we still pull in a lot of visitors especially during the warmer months. March and April are slow.”

“We usually get a lot of people on dates, like you two,” Carol says with a smile that absolutely reaches her eyes.

Beca chokes, scrambling to correct that train of thought before it goes too far off course. “We’re not—”

Before she can finish the thought or glance at Chloe’s expression, Carol is speaking again. “Are you two in college? You seem a little young.”

Beca’s brain fizzles out, too caught up in the previous comment, but thankfully Chloe, more fully awake than she is, cuts in. “Yes,” she says quickly. “We just happen to have the day off today.” She glances at Beca uncertainly but says nothing more.

Beca feels the same swooping sensation she had felt earlier, but she cannot pinpoint any discernible reason to feel that way.

(But the reality is, she absolutely can. She’s just too afraid to look at the reason, sitting right next to her and casually sipping on tea.)

They spend about another hour chatting with Carol and Roger. Beca realizes she will truly miss them as she and Chloe begin to gather their things to leave.

“You’ll be back to say hello, won’t you?” Carol asks.

It is Chloe who agrees first, reaching out to pull Carol into a quick hug. “Of course we will. We will, won’t we, Beca?”

Beca meets Chloe’s gaze, realizing how much she had missed such simple normalcy. Carol and Roger’s affectionate smiles. The calmness she feels from the tea.

How much she wants to make future plans with Chloe Beale.

“Yeah, we will.”

Beca’s messy thoughts linger with her as they leave; they linger even as she settles in the car, pulling her seatbelt over her body. Beca hardly realizes that her own leg is shaking up and down until Chloe’s hand comes to rest on her knee.

“Beca,” Chloe says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Beca replies unconvincingly. “I’m uh…” She swallows. “Just thinking about that rollercoaster. I hate heights.”

Chloe, apparently finding amusement in Beca’s plight (though she does not know the extent of it), giggles. “Then why did you do it? _And_ you went first.”

Beca smiles at Chloe. _That_ she can answer; _that’s_ easy. “Because you got in the car with me today,” she responds, finally finding strength to start the car so they can be on their way once more.

* * *

Already, Beca is getting used to spending time with Chloe Beale. Where most people have a difficult time trying to get more than two words from her—of course, not many _do_ try—Chloe has slotted into Beca’s life incredibly easily.

So much so that, over the next few days, with Chloe swamped with schoolwork and Beca at least attempting to pay enough attention to get by without completely failing, Beca finds that she kind of misses her.

It is easy for her to forget, sometimes, that this is simply a school project. That’s all she and Chloe are: project partners. Nothing more.

Project partners who apparently send one another random text messages in the middle of lazy evenings, about nothing to do with their project.

**Chloe  
** _i’m a survivor, i’m going to make it_

The text from Chloe brightens Beca’s homework-ridden evening.

Another text comes in while she is still pondering what to respond.

**Chloe  
** _sorry, that song has been on my mind since this weekend  
_ _can’t believe that you got me to go on that death trap_

Beca grins.

**Beca  
** _You thought that i’d be stressed without you  
_ _But i’m chilling_

**Chloe  
** _!!!!!_   
_Beca mitchell did you listen to some destiny’s child finally_

**Beca  
** _maybe  
_ _wishin’ you the best_

Beca pauses, watching the notification go through. Chloe begins to type a response for the longest time—eons, it feels like—but after that period of waiting, the three dots disappear and Beca is left staring at a blank screen.

Her fingers long to type back a reply even if Chloe hasn’t said anything. It is so totally gross and cheesy, but again, she _misses_ Chloe. They barely had the chance to speak in school, especially with how busy this week had been, but God, does Beca miss her.

Then, finally, as if Chloe read her mind:

**Chloe  
** _goodbye friend, no this is not the end  
_ _lift up your head...somewhere with me again_

Beca’s breath catches completely that she doesn’t immediately respond.

**Chloe  
** _some david guetta for you_   
_goodnight beca mitchell :)_

Beca grins, shaking her head. Almost unconsciously she pulls up the song on Spotify. It is quite the perfect parting song—until the next day at least.

* * *

If there is one thing Beca dislikes more than being woken up before her alarm, it is the sight of the name up on her phone screen, the _reason_ she has been roused from a relatively peaceful sleep.

 _HELEN_.

Why this woman would be calling her at such an ungodly hour, Beca does not know. In fact, she tells herself that she doesn’t care to find out either, but as the ringing cuts out, then immediately begins for a second time, her thumb seems to tap the _answer_ option on its own.

“What?” Beca says groggily into the receiver. Her eyes are barely open, though that is not the reason she sounds so disinterested in this particular exchange.

“Sweetie?” Helen’s voice sounds from the other end of the phone. The very word, the quiver in the tone she is attempting to hide behind a cheerful voice, causes Beca to roll her tired eyes. “Hi. How are you?”

Beca is used to this by now. She is used to the small talk, the unnecessary pleasantries, and what they generally lead to.

“I don’t have any money for you,” Beca says in lieu of a response.

“But, Beca—”

“Neither does Dani,” Beca adds, quickly pulling the phone away from her ear to hit the end call button.

Helen has just enough time to desperately croak out _but I’m your mother—_ before the line goes dead.

Beca’s phone is switched quickly onto the _do not disturb_ setting, allowing her to snatch up another few moments of sleep.

* * *

Just like every time Beca deals with unwanted contact from her mother, she cannot help the way she will go on to think about it for days to come. It is not normally an issue, considering nobody is ever around to notice a shift in her mood.

That was before Chloe though. Apparently, only ten minutes into their Saturday morning car journey to their next geography project location, Chloe has noticed some kind of change.

A stark contrast to last time, as Chloe sits in the passenger seat of Dani’s car, Beca in the driver’s seat, she seems much more relaxed. So far, Beca has not noticed any finger tapping, something she takes as a good sign. In fact, Chloe looks relatively comfortable as she sits with her sketchpad in her lap, contentedly working away.

Despite brief glances here and there, Beca cannot see exactly what Chloe is working on, but evidently, Chloe is paying attention to her.

“Is everything okay?” Chloe asks without glancing up from her notebook at first.

When Beca does not immediately respond, she notices the glimmer of blue eyes rising to study her expression, and quickly shrugs a shoulder. “Fine,” Beca lies, eager to change the subject. “What are you working on?”

“Just drawing,” Chloe shrugs. The memory of Chloe sketching while Beca had been on the rollercoaster comes to the forefront of her mind. It eases some tension from her.

“You’ve been drawing more,” Beca comments, voicing her earlier thoughts. “I like that.”

Chloe smiles at that. _And smiling more,_ Beca thinks. _I like that too._

“I’ve missed it,” Chloe admits quietly. “I’m happy to be able to do it, even if it’s just for this project.”

“Can I see?” Beca asks.

Chloe scoffs. “Not while you’re driving. Eyes on the road.”

It is a familiar phrase, but the way in which Chloe says it with so much ease, comfortably relaxed in the seat next to Beca...that means the world.

Beca obediently keeps her eyes on the road, silently mulling over the past week. Though she is attentively watching the road in front of her, Beca can see the way Chloe is still studying her, still trying to figure out what she is thinking. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Chloe asks.

It is truly unfortunate that Beca’s mother had to call at all the previous day—this would have been the perfect road trip moment. It is one thing for her mother to ruin her mood, but Beca does not want it to interfere with her time with Chloe. So, through a soft sigh, she eventually glances toward Chloe, this time offering her a genuine smile and a small nod of her head. “I’m fine, I promise.” Because she is, she’s fine. Her mother is just…well, not her favorite subject, that’s all.

For a short moment longer, Chloe continues to stare—Beca can _really_ feel Chloe’s eyes boring a hole into the side of her head—to really assess the situation. “Okay,” she eventually says, “But you know you can tell me if something’s bothering you, right? We’re friends. Friends tell their friends when something is on their mind.” Then, quieter. “It’s nice to have a friend.”

“Friends,” Beca muses aloud before she can stop herself. _That_ had been on her mind too. Unbidden, there is a slight arch at the corner of her mouth, and apparently, it is something Chloe notices.

“Yes?” Chloe says, though it comes out as more of a question.

Beca is transported back—not that the memory has ever really left her—to the week prior, when she and Chloe had been sitting with Carol and Roger. It is a bold move for Beca to make, something she wouldn’t normally do, but perhaps it is the phone call from her mother throwing her off kilter—or maybe she just...wants to say it. “I don’t know,” Beca smirks, sounding braver than she actually feels. “Last I heard, weren’t we dating?”

It takes Chloe less time than Beca would expect to register the reference, if her light, gentle laugh is anything to go by.

Beca is glad for the fact, because it means two crucial things: firstly, she does not have to try to backtrack her way out of an awkward situation. Secondly, and more importantly, Chloe has evidently been thinking about it too—or so she hopes. Chloe’s reaction is definitely a positive one.

As Beca grins before turning to face the road again, she chooses not to put too much stock into the fact that Chloe does not disagree with the statement.

There is a light airiness to the quiet that proceeds to surround them. It is broken by the gentle hum of the radio, as well as the soft sound of Chloe’s pencil working against her sketchpad. It is comfortable, almost serene, and it helps Beca to forget about her previously bad mood.

“Music?” Beca suggests before she completely loses her nerve.

Chloe reaches for Beca’s phone with ease, already familiar with the going-ons of Beca’s car and her things. She hums a little tune to herself before setting Spotify up on shuffle and letting the phone go.

“Where are we going today, by the way?” Chloe finally thinks to ask. She has taken to letting Beca lead the way, and somehow just trusting her judgment, something that makes Beca feel quietly grateful.

Before Beca has a chance to respond, the opening notes to “Walk Me Home” begin to play through Beca’s speakers.

The silence that befalls them is so rife with a different kind of tension—different from just a few moments ago when Beca hadn’t wanted to speak about her mother. This time, the tension is composed of memories, Beca is sure. Both of them remembering that night on the bridge so long ago. Almost an entire lifetime, Beca muses.

Chloe’s pencil stills.

Despite the heavy memory, it isn’t an unpleasant silence. Not at all. _How could it be_ , Beca thinks. _When I’m sitting next to my favorite person?_

“Beca?” Chloe’s small voice sounds, cutting through the percussive music. “This song—”

“I know,” Beca murmurs.

Beca allows her emotions to pull her through the next moment, Chloe’s wide-eyed gaze on her all the while. She slowly pulls over to the empty highway shoulder, marvelling at the emptiness of the road around them.

Quietly, she thinks about the last few weeks; she thinks about the stark differences between then and now. For everything that has changed, one thing has remained the same: Beca has been no less captivated by the person seated beside her than she was that very first morning.

The realization, or maybe it is something else, causes the pace of Beca’s already-racing heart to thud faster somehow. She wonders, in spite of Chloe’s silence, whether Chloe’s is doing the same.

Normally much less impulsive, Beca can only blame her adrenaline for the way she reaches over with a slightly shaky hand to unclip her seatbelt. As she climbs from the car without giving herself the chance to second guess what she is doing, she realizes that Chloe is doing the same.

It’s almost as if she blacks out for a moment: one second she is closing the driver’s side door, then the next she is standing beside Chloe’s, slowly tugging it open to the sight of Chloe climbing steadily out to join her.

Like the cheesiest movie Beca can even imagine, the sound of the song, _their song_ , floats faintly through the car speaker, and Beca wonders for a split second whether she is actually doing this, whether she is actually staring into those bright, captivating eyes that have consumed her thoughts so plainly lately, or whether this is just some kind of twisted dream.

If it is the latter, Beca doesn’t want to wake up.

She knows she does not imagine it, the way Chloe’s gaze drifts slowly toward Beca’s lips. She knows that the sight of Chloe’s, full and inviting, is not in her imagination.

But, that dream-like state returns as Beca makes perhaps the boldest move of her entire life. Without calculation, she finds herself moving forward until the feeling of soft lips are pressing back against her own.

It is a short connection, but fueled by something so much deeper. Beca thinks about that as she pulls back slightly, terrified eyes scanning over Chloe’s face. For a moment, Chloe stares back, and Beca is waiting for the incoming slap.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, Chloe’s palm rises to softly cup Beca’s cheek before Chloe is leaning in to do what Beca would’ve previously assumed the impossible. The soft touch of their lips reconnecting is deeper this time, it fills Beca with a feeling she has truly never experienced before, one that she cannot quite put into words.

How she even musters the energy to speak as they slowly part again is entirely beyond her. “Friends,” Beca echoes their previous conversation, stunned gaze locked with Chloe’s.

Beca notes the way Chloe’s teeth sink gently into her bottom lip, the way her eyes sparkle with the same kind of wonder as her own. Chloe’s head nods softly, and Beca can see the slight smile stretching onto her lips. “Something like that,” Chloe whispers.

To Beca, it feels like sunshine for days; all the colors of the rainbow wrapped up in one moment. _Something like that._


	8. i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca finds that the class project is becoming less and less about the academics and much more about the company. Sometimes, she cannot help but lose herself completely in her own mind, no matter the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Paper Rings" by Taylor Swift.

Beca feels like she is still stuck in that same dream-like state as she climbs back into the driver’s seat of the car. In fact, how she even manages to drive the rest of the way to their destination is beyond her, considering she spends the majority of the ride entirely stuck in her head, mentally replaying the image of Chloe leaning in so closely. The taste of Chloe’s lips lingers on her own.

If it wasn’t for the soft, comforting feeling of Chloe’s fingers settled so naturally on her thigh as she drives, Beca would be sure she has drifted to some other universe altogether. Chloe grounds her though; Chloe is what reminds her of the present, of their reality.

Chloe doesn’t draw attention to Beca’s sudden surge of boldness. She simply sits in the passenger seat, humming contentedly along with the faint sound of the stereo. From the corner of her eye, through regular stolen glances, Beca notes the small, ever-present smile tugging at the corner of Chloe’s lips.

Beca understands it—she feels the same way.

It is a testament to the force of their kiss—perhaps even their bond—that the silence does not feel remotely uncomfortable. Beca feels the urge to reach down to hold Chloe’s hand, an urge stronger than ever before. She wills herself to wait, however, intent on getting them to their destination safely.

Besides, it isn’t like Chloe’s hand on her thigh isn’t doing wonders for her self-esteem.

When Chloe lifts her hand away, Beca feels the loss keenly, but as she pulls up to a stop sign, finally, after miles of seemingly endless road, she turns to face Chloe fully. It feels, more than ever, like their own little world inside the car—an ongoing liminal space of their own design—and Beca really doesn’t want to break the atmosphere, but she can’t help it.

“Chloe?” she asks, voice surprisingly quiet and hoarse. She blushes and clears her throat. “We’re...that was…” she grapples for words, never having found words to be her forte. “That was, like, fine, right?”

It is perhaps the most horribly awkward way to ask the girl she likes if that kiss, not twenty minutes in the not-so-distant past, was appropriate and whether Chloe’s feeling okay with it. Beca must do something right, however, because Chloe simply smiles and with a quick glance around to ensure that they’re still the only ones of the surprisingly empty stretch of road, she leans right across the console to pull Beca in for a quick, brief kiss—their second!—as if that answers all of Beca’s hidden and unspoken insecurities.

(It does.)

“Okay,” Beca says when Chloe pulls back. “Alright.” Beca eases the car into drive again, still nodding while Chloe giggles quietly in the seat next to her. “You win.”

* * *

Their destination hadn’t necessarily been anything special. Beca had wondered if Chloe preferred drawing landscapes, still life, or architecture, so a seemingly innocuous tree in the middle of a park had seemed like the perfect choice. Beca had read about the White Oak—a gorgeous, rustic, imposing tree in the middle of Connally Park.

She had read that its presence was not only imposing, but also lonely. For stretches, it seemed like the White Oak was alone in its breadth and its height compared to its surrounding tree counterparts. It seemed rather remarkable to Beca that nature found ways to reflect every last human emotion—every last human desire.

“This park is huge,” Chloe comments as Beca pulls out her phone. “Are we just going to…” Chloe gestures at the entrance to the park. “Wander?” she asks, with an amused lilt to her tone.

“Haha,” Beca says dryly. Pretty subconsciously, she holds out a hand somewhere in the space between herself and Chloe and Chloe meets her in the middle, sliding her own warm fingers between Beca’s. “There’s this one specific tree,” Beca murmurs, momentarily forgetting that they are no longer in the car and there is no need to maintain a quieter tone. Chloe only draws closer to her, peering over Beca’s shoulder to look at her phone.

“White Oak,” Chloe reads aloud.

“I’m sure it’s not actually white and I also don’t know what an oak looks like,” Beca supplies helpfully.

Chloe ignores her and tugs her towards a map of the park standing just a few feet in front of them. “There,” she says, pointing at a small marked spot with their destination. “This better be a good tree, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe says lightly. “It’s a bit of a walk.”

Beca, for how much she hates exercise, finds that the brisk pace (forced upon her by virtue of holding Chloe’s hand for the majority of way towards the tree) is refreshing. She might still be giddy and high from all things Chloe Beale, but she supposes there might be some merit in exercise. All along the way, Chloe smiles at her from time to time. A smile, Beca hopes somewhat selfishly, that is only for her; a smile that is _because_ of her. The light banter along the way as well only serves to fuel Beca’s urge to kiss Chloe again.

“It wouldn’t be terrible if we got lost, would it?” Chloe asks, breaking Beca out of her brief reverie. Chloe’s pace slows ever so slightly as she allows Beca to catch up to her.

“I would maybe mind a little bit,” Beca replies, biting back a grin at the mock-annoyed expression Chloe shoots her. “But I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to get lost with you in the middle of this very public park where I’m sure thousands of people frequent regularly.”

“You have no sense of romance,” Chloe complains before she is laughing and walking off.

Beca is only mildly offended by that. “I so do, Chloe no middle name Beale and I resent the implication that I don’t just because I’m practical.” _Just wait until you see this super romantic tree_ , Beca thinks.

Chloe pauses and Beca momentarily has a flash of fear that she said something totally inappropriate or incorrect. She’s about halfway to backtracking before she realizes they’ve somehow made it to the White Oak without realizing it.

“Oh,” Chloe murmurs. “It’s...wow.”

Beca agrees with that sentiment. As far as aesthetics go, it’s an ugly tree, but there is some beauty in the way it stands apart—in the way it stands out—against the backdrop of the other, less imposing trees in the background.

Like she is reading Beca’s mind (or maybe she caught a glimpse of the webpage Beca had been on), Chloe sighs before saying, “it seems rather lonely, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Beca murmurs. “But maybe it likes being that way.”

Chloe turns to look at her. “Maybe it just never had somebody to help it along the way.”

Beca opens her mouth to say something, literally anything, but she can’t because her chest is doing that horrible fluttering thing that feels both like a heart attack and the best thing in the world. She thinks that Chloe looking at her like _that_ —like she’s important and special and cared for—might be the best feeling in the world.

She doesn’t have to say anything though because Chloe is pulling her hand again and they make their way towards the base of the tree.

As they near, Beca notices a peculiar assortment of flat stones and some more misshapen rocks lining the base of the tree. She knows that they didn’t make it there by themselves, but rather, they were likely placed there by people. She picks one up, smiling when she observes the scratched in names on the stone. Inspection of another shows the same thing.

But beyond the stones, there are scratched-in names, nearly invisible against the bark, along the tree trunk with varying degrees of aesthetic and precision.

Chloe kneels down next to her, reaching out to gently trace some of the lettering herself. There is a distinct brightness in her eyes, one that draws Beca in without fail.

“It’s kind of nice,” Chloe says finally. She brushes some dirt away unnecessarily before sitting down and leaning back against the tree trunk. She gazes up, taking in the sprawling branches and gently-fluttering leaves.

“Kind of?” Beca asks, moving to sit next to her as close as she dares. She swallows when their shoulders brush.

“It’s like...even in the loneliest places, people find a way to be together.”

_Like us_ , Beca thinks, but she doesn’t say it aloud. Instead, she nods along, simply taking note of the rhythm of the breeze around them, the endless sprawl of the sound of nature, and the gentleness of Chloe’s breathing as their shoulders brush again and again. “You really are an artist, aren’t you?” Beca comments with a gentle smile, gaze drifting easily toward Chloe beside her. The questioning look she receives in return causes her to chuckle quietly. “You just have this way of interpreting things, even mundane ones. It’s very artistic.”

At that, Chloe gently shrugs a shoulder, but she doesn’t try to deny it.

“What do you want to do?” Beca asks. She allows herself a small glance toward Chloe’s bag, where she knows her trusty sketchbook is tucked safely away. “With your drawing, I mean. Is that what you want to do, you want to be an artist?”

Chloe seems to think for a short moment, before responding with a small nod of her head. “I think so. I don’t know,” she admits, “I know that it doesn’t sound like the most realistic path. I guess I kind of just...want people to see what I see, you know?”

“What do you see?” Beca questions. Her tone is soft, like she is afraid of pushing a boundary, but she dares herself to continue. Her eyes flicker toward the bag again. “Will you show me?”

Chloe’s hesitation is palpable and Beca understands it. Still, she can’t help but hold her breath in eager anticipation when Chloe reaches for her bag nonetheless and pulls out her sketchbook. Beca had only allowed herself brief glimpses before, not wanting to intrude on Chloe’s privacy, whatever form that might have taken. But now, she allows herself a closer study of the notebook, just its cover to start. Worn, black leather with _CRB_ monogrammed across the cover. Chloe’s initials again, forever a mystery to Beca. She feels like now is probably not the time to circle back to the middle name thing though. Instead, she is waiting for the contents of the notebook itself.

“You don’t have to show me,” Beca promises, taking note of what she perceives as further hesitation.

“It’s okay,” Chloe assures in a soft tone, finally flipping the cover to reveal the first page. Beca’s eyes fix intently on the image; a detailed sketch of an unfamiliar beach scene. Immediately, Beca begins to admire the precision, the attention to detail, and already she can tell that Chloe really is incredibly talented, just from one picture.

“Where is that?” Beca prompts.

Almost as if recalling a fond memory, Beca notes the relaxed smile that draws itself onto Chloe’s lips. “Sunset Beach,” she explains. “Living in Florida meant a lot of beach days when Amber and I were younger.” While Beca doesn’t say anything, she takes notice of the way Chloe brings up her sister without faltering this time, like she knows that she is safe to talk about her here; safe with Beca.

“That’s where you’re from?” Beca asks, quietly wondering why she has not thought to ask before. She has been so wrapped up in Chloe, in learning about her now, that her past—at least further back than last year’s accident—has taken a backseat.

“Tampa,” Chloe says with a short nod of her head, eventually flipping over a few more pages.

Beca is sure there are explanations behind all of Chloe’s drawings, but she finds that she is too swept up in simply admiring them, in admiring Chloe’s unmistakable talent. “Chloe, these are amazing,” Beca comments sincerely, eyes trained on the pages as Chloe continues to flip idly through them.

“Thank you,” Chloe murmurs, her own gaze seemingly admiring her own work. “I guess I used to do this a lot.”

“Used to?”

Beca waits for a response, but none comes. Chloe eventually reaches a page that makes her pause. She leans over to observe the image more closely. It is a beautiful, intricate sketch which is what Beca has come to expect over the short period of time she has been privy to Chloe’s work. There is, however, something distinctly empty about the image. Just a completed torso, sitting in an armchair, holding what appears to be a mug. No distinguishing features, not even a face or hair.

Beca does not want to pry—does not want to interrupt the sudden, solemn silence. She reaches out to gently smooth over an errant crease in the page before tracing her finger over the swift, slightly-faded pencil strokes. _Who?_ She wants to ask.

But a part of her knows already.

“Used to,” Chloe finally clarifies quietly.

Beca has her answer.

“I never finished this,” Chloe murmurs.

“Is that the last drawing?” Beca asks curiously. Mostly, she wants to move on from the subject, only because she can see that unmistakable gleam of sadness in Chloe’s eyes, and Beca wants to somehow take it away.

At that, Chloe seems to freeze up a little bit. Beca takes note, but chooses not to comment. Instead, she waits patiently, eyeing the unfamiliar expression on Chloe’s face. “For a while,” Chloe finally responds, lips pursing slightly, almost like she is questioning herself, wondering whether to reveal anything further.

The prior look of sadness on Chloe’s face seems to be overtaken by something more akin to embarrassment. While Beca still does not want to push, she cannot help but feel somewhat intrigued. “What is it?” Beca prompts gently, curiosity getting the better of her.

“After Amber,” Chloe begins slowly, “I stopped drawing. I guess I just didn’t have the energy for it anymore. It’s only recently that I found that inspiration again, you know?”

Beca waits patiently, silently, watching as Chloe slowly turns over the page. At first, she doesn’t know what she is looking at. Not because it’s not done well, but because she is busy taking in the bashful expression on Chloe’s face. It is only when her gaze lowers to the now open page that Beca understands Chloe’s reaction.

“I know,” Chloe mumbles sheepishly. She is not looking Beca’s way, but Chloe can evidently sense Beca’s wide-eyed stare as she takes in the precise, detailed sketch before her. “It’s kind of creepy, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Beca shakes her head, the volume of her voice dropping slightly. She is still taking in the sight of the familiar eyes staring back up at her from the page, almost as if she is looking into a mirror. It isn’t creepy. If anything, Beca is just surprised—surprised that Chloe has taken inspiration from her, that she apparently considers her something of a muse. “Mine, right?” Beca asks quietly, finally bringing her awestruck gaze up toward Chloe’s face. She notes the deep blush prickling Chloe’s formerly pale cheeks.

“I guess you inspired me,” Chloe just has the time to murmur, before boldness takes over Beca again.

Somewhat cautiously, but with deep purpose, Beca brings a hand up to delicately cup Chloe’s rosy cheek. She doesn’t register the way her heart is racing so rapidly until she has leaned up to close the small gap between them. The sense of release that washes over her simply from the soft touch of Chloe’s lips is almost overwhelming to Beca, but she realizes she has been craving it this whole time.

Almost as if she feels the same way, as if she has been needing this too, Chloe doesn’t hesitate to return the slow kiss. In fact, as Beca begins to pull away, she notes the distinct feeling of soft hands reaching out to gently hold onto the fabric of her shirt, with Chloe proceeding to pull her back in.

They are hardly in the most private of places—they are in the middle of a public park, no less—but if anybody happens to be passing by, Beca doesn’t notice. All she can register is the feeling of soft, full lips pressing a little more firmly against her own, the way Chloe gently tugs her closer. Beca does nothing to stop her.

While it is still slow, still just as tender as those previous, there is nothing brief about this kiss. Chloe’s grip on Beca’s shirt doesn’t loosen, and Beca takes the initiative to shift to her knees right there beside Chloe. The new position gives Beca a slight (and rare) height advantage, one that she uses to tilt Chloe’s face back gently, their impromptu, in the moment kiss deepening with the most natural ease.

Had Beca necessarily intended for them to completely, unabashedly make out? No, decidedly not, but that doesn’t stop her. However, she is aware of not going too far, of not somehow ruining this thing between she and Chloe, whatever it may be. So, it is with a great manner of restraint that Beca finally leans back to part her lips from Chloe’s. It is only at that point, staring down at those intense, familiar blue eyes, that Beca even realizes she has brought her other palm up to cradle Chloe’s other cheek. Chloe’s skin is warm beneath her touch.

Beca stares down, somewhat embarrassed by the way she has already grown kind of breathless. The sound of Chloe’s small, gentle gasps replay in her mind as Beca bites down gently onto her lower lip, the realization that they are both in this together, both learning and exploring together, causing a sense of comfort to wash over her. Her mouth bends into the same soft smile currently mirrored back up at her.

“So, not creepy?” Chloe asks in a quiet tone, bottom lip sucking in between pearly teeth.

Beca responds with a small chuckle, a brief shake of her head. “No, definitely not creepy.”

Chloe kisses her again, quicker than before but not any less passionate. As Chloe’s lips slide against hers, gentle and sure, Beca takes stock of her life and everything that led to this point. Making out with the girl she likes, under a random tree in the middle of a warm Georgia day.

It makes Beca feel the most at home she has ever felt in her eighteen years of living. Like the sunshine has finally broken past the clouds.

* * *

Beca supposes that age-old adage about time passing quicker when there are good things to experience is true enough. She realizes that it is getting well into the day, especially when people eventually come by and startle upon seeing both of them cuddled at the base of the tree.

Through muted giggles, they make their way back to the car, taking care not to trip over any rocks or twigs along the way—as much care as can be taken considering they spend most of their time teasing each other and pulling each other along playfully.

Once they settle back into the car, Beca reaches across the console, palm upwards and waits for Chloe to grab her hand. When she does, Beca squeezes it. “Thank you for coming with me today,” she murmurs at Chloe’s raised eyebrow.

“Thank you for showing me all there is to know about Georgia.”

Beca scoffs at that, but she smiles to let Chloe know she’s kidding. “Red, please, there is _no_ way I’d be able to single-handedly show you everything there is to know about Georgia in one school semester.”

Chloe blushes. “Red?”

“You won’t tell me your middle name,” Beca shrugs.

“Fair enough.” Chloe sighs dramatically. “Guess that’s something for the future.”

_That_ piques Beca’s interest. “What is? Georgia or your middle name?”

Chloe takes her chance to shrug Beca off as well, pulling her hand back into her lap delicately. “I guess we’ll see.”

Though it is teasing, Beca senses something more poignant in Chloe’s tone—something that makes her sit up straighter and focus on the road ahead as she pulls out of the park. It is the mere mention of something to look forward to in the future that draws Beca into a contemplative state for a good chunk of the drive home.

She finds that she does not necessarily mind it. It would perhaps be more apt to consider that she might in fact _like_ the idea of having something to return to. Somebody to return to.

Chloe, to return to.

She has no idea where the future is going to take them, in fact she hadn’t really considered much beyond the scope of the project...and before that, she hadn’t really considered much beyond the scope of simply getting out of Atlanta as soon as she could. Los Angeles or New York. Maybe Denver. She just knew she couldn’t _stay_.

But now…

A glance at Chloe to her side opens up an entirely new world; all new possibilities that Beca had never been privy to before.

The quiet that surrounds them as they make the drive home is not an uncomfortable one. For a decent portion of the journey, Beca notes that Chloe is messily sketching something in her notebook. Beca cannot help but wonder if the new piece will involve her in some way, but she chooses not to ask.

“Hm,” Chloe hums quietly, almost like she is deep in thought. “You know, you never told me what you want to do,” she continues.

Beca glances briefly toward her, but her main focus is on the road. It is not like Beca is a reckless driver in general, but driving with Chloe admittedly forces her to use extra caution. “What do you mean?” Beca asks, eyes back on the road.

“You asked what I wanted to do, if I wanted to be an artist. What about you, what do you want to do? After school and stuff,” Chloe shrugs, bringing her gaze over toward Beca.

Although the answer is an easy one, and not necessarily something Beca is ashamed of, it is really not something she discusses with many people. As far as her father is concerned, her future prospects are considered more like a hobby than an actual career, and Beca is not exactly inundated with friends to discuss her plans with. So, she has kind of trained herself to keep it to herself, and finds that she pauses following Chloe’s question.

She notes the way Chloe is still looking at her, waiting almost expectantly.

“Music,” Beca decides simply. Chloe doesn’t say anything, so Beca proceeds. “I want to produce music.”

“I could see that,” Chloe finally says. Beca takes note of the small smile twisting onto Chloe’s lips at the thought. It is not a judgmental one, not like the look she is used to receiving from her father. “I think you’d be good at that.”

“Yeah?” Beca questions, a tone of mild surprise in her voice, though it is not an unhappy one. Quite the opposite, in fact. Chloe just nods, so Beca feels comfortable enough to continue. “I guess it’s the same as you with your art, you want people to see what you see,” Beca shrugs a shoulder gently, “I want people to listen.”

And on cue, like Chloe has always known what to say, she simply sighs and nods in response to Beca. “I’m listening,” she murmurs.

Beca believes her.

* * *

Despite all the highs of the previous day, Beca ends up slipping into one of her less favorable states. She tries to fight it off and make her way to school, but halfway there, she realizes that it isn’t even worth it.

The sinking feeling in her stomach as she thinks about Chloe is a new sensation—typically she doesn’t necessarily get _those_ feelings whenever she decides to isolate herself for hours or even days at a time. She fidgets with her phone as she sits on the stairs leading up to the attic, staring at the last text Chloe sent her.

**Chloe  
** _Goodnight and i’ll see you tomorrow :)  
_ _Ps text me when you get home_

To be fair, Beca had been exhausted and simply fell asleep, but she feels bad about the mild ghosting that she’s about to do.

It was just a lot, the previous day. Admitting things to Chloe that she hadn’t really had a chance to admit aloud to other people before. It had felt freeing and enlightening at the time (Chloe’s equal reciprocity in terms of how responsive she had been to Beca did not go unnoticed), but all of Beca’s thoughts seem jumbled today.

Messy.

Loud.

The disarray is wreaking havoc on her emotions.

Objectively, she knows that it is _good_ , but the urge to run is still present. The urge, so familiar and comforting because she knows that nobody could _really_ stop her.

On cue, Chloe texts her again as she has the messages open.

**Chloe  
** _See you in class?_

She longs to say yes—to agree. Yes, she will see Chloe. Yes, she will be in class.

But she just can’t bring herself to.

Instead, she finally makes her way out of the house and wheels her bicycle out onto the main road.

* * *

The lake—more of a pond, Beca supposes—is beautiful and secluded, not too far from Beca’s own house. She had come across it while walking late one afternoon. Having had her headphones on, she hadn’t realized she had taken a wrong turn before she was following a small, beaten path up into an enclosed area surrounding the shining body of water.

It had felt like such a treasure—a secret spot for Beca to just unwind and _not_ think without prying eyes and ears.

That had been two years ago. It is still a favorite spot and Beca notes that rarely anybody uses the location.

She drops her bike unceremoniously to her side and quickly works at removing her boots and socks. Rolling up her jeans, she wades in, wincing at the press of the smooth stones and pebbles beneath her toes.

She almost hears Dani’s voice chastising her. _Don’t wade into unknown waters barefoot, Beca!_

Almost.

The stark stillness and silence around her helps dull the voices clamoring for her attention in her head. Most of them her own insecurities, some of them Dani, some of them Chloe (that part is new). Very few of them her mother or father.

It feels nice, being alone. For a long time, Beca figured it was what would be best. She just needed to survive high school. She just needed to graduate and figure it out from there. High school would be the last anchor holding her at shore. That and not being eighteen yet.

Now, high school still is the last anchor holding her at shore. Now, she’s eighteen. She has Dani. She has a goddamn geography project to finish even if it is a _little_ lame.

She has Chloe.

Beca frowns at the intrusive yet welcoming thought and wades in a bit deeper, wincing as the cold water hits her knees and continues soaking her jeans. She splashes petulantly at the water around her before shivering and looking around.

This place is a good place to feel alone, but Beca isn’t sure that’s exactly what she wants anymore.

* * *

**Chloe  
** _Beca???  
_ _You’re not in class_

**Chloe  
** So you just weren’t in school all day  
 _I hope we’re okay  
_ _Call me when you can?_

* * *

When Beca pulls up to Chloe’s house the next morning, Chloe stomps out to greet her. Beca quickly exits the car when she notices Chloe’s extremely displeased expression.

And—

_Great_. Chloe’s parents are peeking around the curtain from the living room window. Beca lifts a hand half-heartedly to wave at them before Chloe is reaching out to grab her wrist. Despite the frustration in Chloe’s eyes, Chloe’s grip is still gentle as she lower’s Beca’s arm.

“Where have you been?” Chloe cries out, shoving at Beca’s shoulder. “I texted you all day. I even called you. You missed class!”

“Careful,” Beca jokes. “You sound like Aubrey.”

Chloe’s glare could melt ice. “ _That’s_ the first thing you say to me after you completely drop off the face of the earth?”

“Hi,” Beca greets, offering Chloe a smile.

Chloe’s lips twitch, but she pulls her arms into herself and folds them.

Beca deflates. “I know. I’m sorry. I just...there was something I needed to do. And I, uh—”

“I thought we were okay with everything that…” Chloe glances behind her to see her parents still watching with wide, nosy eyes. Despite the fact that they likely cannot hear them, the volume of Chloe’s voice drops slightly. “With everything that happened. At the park.”

“I’m, um, more than okay with all of that,” Beca says quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

She is _so_ bad at this whole feelings thing. Realizing that people depend on her. The whole relationship thing.

Those things.

“Just give me a second,” Beca murmurs. She walks backwards slowly, keeping an eye on Chloe because she is genuinely afraid that Chloe might stalk back into the house. Chloe merely arches an eyebrow and taps her foot in a way that really shouldn’t be so attractive because Chloe is wearing her pajamas.

Beca makes a mental note to tell Chloe that later.

But first, Beca moves to open all the doors of her sister’s old beat-up sedan. And then the trunk for good measure. From the passenger seat, the last door she opens, Beca picks up the small bouquet of flowers—assorted, delicate lilies—she had practically begged the grocer to give her when the store hadn’t even opened yet that morning.

“For you,” Beca says, giving the flowers to Chloe. Chloe reaches out to grab them, more enthusiastically than the expression on her face gives away, but Beca catches the faintest hint of a smile when Chloe brings the flowers to her face to smell. “And just one more thing.” She turns to quickly hit the play button on the audio deck in the car.

Music begins to flow from the speakers, loud and clear as day. Beca sure hopes that Chloe has understanding neighbours, but she kind of really likes this original song, so she has no intention on stopping it even if somebody did complain.

Well, she _might_ , but she hopes that they’d at least let her gauge Chloe’s reaction first.

“What is this?” Chloe asks in wonder as she takes a step closer to Beca.

“I...a song that I wrote. The music... reminds me of you. Sometimes I struggle with coming up with original things to say, but it’s been a lot easier recently. And um, I know things are totally crazy right now and this feels _insane_ , but you’ve inspired me in lots of ways.”

“I have?” Chloe asks quietly, her previous annoyance having seemingly dissipated altogether.

“You have,” Beca confirms.

“Where did you go yesterday?” Chloe asks, quieter. She reaches out to tangle her fingers with Beca’s.

“I promise I’ll...I won’t…” Beca blows out a breath. She cannot help but feel undeserving of Chloe’s apparent forgiveness, though Beca is definitely not ungrateful. She allows her fingers to loop through the gaps in Chloe’s as she continues almost sheepishly. “Sometimes I just go places and I need to get away.”

“Go places?”

“In my head.”

Chloe says nothing to that and it appears that she is content to drop the subject temporarily. Instead she reaches out fully and pulls Beca into a slow, all-encompassing hug. It is incredibly warm and comfortable. With music flowing all around them, Beca settles into arms she is only happy to call home.

She totally catches Chloe’s parents smiling from the window.

**Author's Note:**

> [Ellie's Tumblr](http://snowbritt.tumblr.com/) / [Theresa's Tumblr](http://isthemusictoblame.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Come say hi!


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